Of Fears Unknown
by Captain MeraSparrow
Summary: AU HPxPotC Norrington wakes up in a very strange place, filled with things he's been taught to fear, and others that he's never before encountered...and that aside, there's something very strange happening to him. COMPLETE!
1. Prologue

Hmm...You know, I don't think I have ever seen a Hogwarts/PotC crossover ever with Norry. Wonder why. Oh well, here's my experiment.

**Prologue**

It had been a very off day. He didn't know where it had all begun, but perhaps waking up late for work that morning had something to do with it. Either way, timing had been everything, and his timing had been thrown off with just that simple mistake. If he had been up an hour earlier, he could've evaded that hurricane and his men would have lived, and he would have at least kept his job, if not caught the person whom he had been chasing. Now, clinging to a floating piece of what had once been his pride, his love, his _Dauntless_, he was not thinking about his job. Nor his timing. Nor the fact that Sparrow had once again escaped. All he could think of was that countless loyal men—and _friends_—had died because of him. He was fully prepared to die with them. He had never expected to live through the sudden peril. And much less had he expected what was about to happen. Just as his consciousness was waning, he set his head weakly on the wood, fully prepared to let go and end it. But a flash of light, a rumbling, and a very, very large wave had other plans. As he drifted into darkness, he had no idea that a star had fallen. No idea that he was still traveling, even when he thought he was about to die. No idea where he was going.

James Norrington was fading.

And where he would come back into being would be a place beyond his wildest dreams.

...Or nightmares...

* * *

Review. 


	2. Of Fears Unknown Part I

It's still really just an experiment, but I was blown away by all the support! Thanks to Authoressinhiding, Jess is a pirate, Destinysway114, Little Miss Sparrow, and Garangel for the reviews!

Molly: Good for you and Shrink, and don't worry, I **am** still working on Hoofin' It. For the record, I **did** email you about that update. You just didn't receive it. Blah.

Smithy: Actually, I've never heard of such a story. Either way, thank you for the support, and I hope this fic continues to please!

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**Chapter One: Of Fears Unknown (Part I)**

He awoke with a grunt, feeling pain shooting through his battered body, but most noticeably up his arm. He didn't question the nature of it; it was obviously another injury from the hurricane. ...Or so he assumed. But something did feel off. For one, he found himself in the middle of a very dense forest. And for two, he found himself completely naked, save for shreds of his clothes scattered about him. Moving his arm weakly within view, his eyes widened as he discovered a very ugly hole where a part of his forearm should have been. Perhaps when the mast had exploded with the lightning...but no, he could see the teeth marks...this was a bite. Must have acquired it while he was unconscious. His vision blurred and he lay his head back down in the soft pine needles on the ground, taking deep breaths, trying to stave off unconsciousness. Whatever was out there, there could well be more of. And they might come back for seconds.

As the dizziness slowly abated, he eased sorely to his knees, looking around himself. He was in the woods, so dense he could not tell whether it was night or day beyond. Yet here, it was an everlasting night. But...woods? He had been drowning at sea last he had noticed. Leaning on a nearby tree—for there were in fact quite a lot to lean on—he slowly eased himself to his feet. Judging by how the world spun, he knew he was not fit to stand...much less walk through a dense forest black as pitch and filled with 'man-eating' creatures. And thus he stumbled blindly through the trees.

Perhaps, if he could get out of the forest, he could get help and find out where he was. But he didn't see that as likely. For one, who would want to help a filthy, haggard man without garment? And that aside, he was already beginning to tire. Maybe it would be here that he would finally come to rest. He shrugged to himself. Not like anybody would ever know the difference. But some distant part of him was not quite ready to give in yet. So he trudged on.

———————

Somehow, by some miracle, the trees eventually began to thin, and he collapsed, panting for breath at the edge of these accursed woods. Again the world spun, and he eased himself to the ground, taking deep breaths and trying to stay conscious. As his vision cleared, he was able to see a rather large castle in the distance, looking regal in the bright sunlight. Maybe someone was there that might help him. He slowly got up and continued, though at a snail's pace, toward the large building. He didn't get far, however, as his legs gave out beneath him. So he crawled to the nearest tree and decided maybe rest wasn't such a bad thing after all.

It was a rather large willow tree, standing tall and strong, almost defiant in the sunlight and gentle breeze. With a sigh, James submitted himself to welcome darkness.

However, he was soon shaken away. He sat up, startled, and instantly regretted it—his head throbbed painfully. What had woken his up? It was then that he noticed the ground was quaking beneath him. He saw movement out of the corner of his eyes, gaze wandering up. A large branch lashed out toward him, coming dangerously close, narrowly missing. Twisting around to see behind him, he realized that the tree itself was twisting and thrashing. The thing was animatedly alive! Its branches were waving wildly, whipping about in all directions. Something told him it did not appreciate being slept on. "Please," he found himself saying, "please, I need help."

_Pull yourself together, James,_ reasoned his sanity, _you're talking to a tree._

_I know, I know...but something tells me that's what needs to be done._

_It's a **tree.** T-r-e-e. Talking to it would be like talking to Sparrow; you'll never get through to it._

_I haven't much choice else._

"I need help," he repeated more softly. "Please...don't hurt me..."

Oddly enough, the tree's movements ceased, and the whole thing leaned over him. He felt braided branches gently caress his back, stopping his startled tremors, before wrapping around him and lifting him into the air. He blanched at the sudden motion, and again the world spun. Or wait, that was the tree spinning, not the world. The monstrous willow was twisting its trunk, a loud, creaking, wooden groan ensuing. It carried a ways, and sounded much like a roar. He heard a distant yell, and after several agonizingly slow minutes passed, a figure came into view. A very large figure. However, too exhausted to care what was currently happening, he did not get a very good look at said large figure. In fact, even as he felt himself descending, he was drifting out of consciousness.

The other figure approached the Whomping Willow cautiously. He had heard it yell before, and it was only in the times of emergency. However, never had Rubeus Hagrid seen it do something like this. It was gently setting down a bundle wrapped in its leaves and branches. Slowly, it delicately removed its limbs from the limp form, and the groundskeeper gasped to see it was a man lying prone in its shadow. He was about to rush forward when he recalled the violent ways of the tree and took a cautious step forward. A thin, whip-like branch shot out toward him, and he reached for his umbrella for protection, only to find that he had left it in his hut in his hurry to come see what was wrong. The irony. He readied himself to dodge, but it was a meaningless effort, for the branch snaked past him, behind him, and gave him a shove from the back toward the unconscious man. "Good, good..." he mumbled, nodding at the tree and approaching the man. Upon closer inspection, he found that, not only was the stranger naked, but was also injured. He removed his immense coat and carefully wrapped the being in it before hefting him over his shoulder and heading off toward the castle. "Straight to th' Hospital Wing with yer. Then it's off ter Dumbledore's office."

———————

"Dumbledore!" cried Hagrid, bursting into the Headmaster's office without bothering to knock.

"Please, Hagrid, no need to shout," replied said Headmaster, a tall, thin, old-appearing man dressed in such robes, with long white hair and a beard to match. "I was just sitting down to some tea," he continued calmly. "Care to join me?"

Hagrid took a breath and sat obediently. "Yessir." Dumbledore filled both their cups and they sat in silence, sipping at their tea.

"Now," said Albus, when it appeared that his groundskeeper and friend had calmed, "what is it that you needed to tell me?"

"There was a man in the Whomping Willow. But it wasn't hurting him, and I can't figure out why."

"Where is this man now?"

"I took 'im to th' hospital wing, sir. He was right banged up."

"Has he said anything?"

"No sir, he was unconscious when I found 'im."

Dumbledore sipped at his tea thoughtfully. "I don't suppose you'd fancy an orange-marmalade piece of toast?" he asked, gesturing toward a plate of such.

"No, sir."

"I thought not. Never was a fan of the marmalade myself. I would prefer a good bit of raspberry jam to go with my bread, but it was a gift from Mrs. Weasley. Thoughtful woman."

"Yessir. She's a right sweet."

"Take me to him."

"Yessir, right this way." The two set aside their tea and set off toward the hospital wing.

———————

"'E's back there, behind the curtain."

"Good, good. It looks as if everything is in order. I see no reason for his presence to be revealed to the students."

Madam Pomfrey strode up to them. "I assume you're here to see the boy."

"Yes, may we?"

"Yes, yes, of course. But do not disturb him, he is resting."

"Yes, Madam Pomfrey." Dumbledore led the way to the corner of the infirmary. He pulled back the curtain far enough for he and Hagrid to see, while close enough that no one else would be able to see. It revealed a man lying asleep, unclothed but for the light sheets that covered him. He would have looked very young were it not for the deep tear tracks that ran from his eyes. Dark lashes rested lightly against fair skin, and short, brown hair stood at all angles, tousled and unkempt. His face was taut with a troubled expression, and the dark eyebrows bunched together. "How was he when you found him?"

"About the same, Dumbledore. He was jus' driftin' off when the tree set him down. Never seen the Willow act like that..." and he went on to recount the actions of the Whomping Willow.

"Ah. He must have made some sort of connection with it." Hagrid looked at him confusedly. "I've heard it can be done." Hagrid raised his eyebrows and shrugged, before the two turned back to the stranger. "What's this on his arm?" Albus gestured to the bandages.

"A pretty deep injury, from the looks of it."

"Do you have any idea what it was from?"

"Please..." came an unfamiliar voice. The two wizards whipped their heads up to see their patient, eyes still firmly shut, speaking. "I didn't mean it...didn'..."

"Young man," began Dumbledore. Hagrid gave him a sideward glance. The man's definition of 'young' was definitely different from his own, "Do you—?"

"No...I didn't mean to do it—_Please_, Majesty, understand!"

Majesty? "Can you tell me your name, sir?"

"It was an accident, please, I didn't mean to do it!"

Dumbledore understood it was a fruitless effort, and was content to watch the man writhe under his sheets, cheeks stained with tears, expression turning to fear. It was then that he loosed a scream of agony, loud and long. Madam Pomfrey rushed over. "What's all this, I thought I asked you not to disturb him—he's upsetting the other patients!"

"He's feverish, Madam."

"Then a quick—." She paused with a wince as his cry finally came to an end, small whimpers and pleas spilling from his mouth, and lowered her voice. "Then a quick paralysis jinx should keep him from hurting himself while I give him something to counteract his illness, sir."

"Yes, yes. _Petrificus totalis,_" Dumbledore pronounced with a wave of his wand. The man fell silent, unable to move as his legs snapped together and his arms snapped to his sides. The Healer picked up a jar from the medicine cart and measured out the appropriate amount before using a counter-jinx to ease his mouth open and pour the medicine in. His throat muscles worked automatically, unconsciously swallowing to keep him from choking. Moments later, his expression became placid and relaxed. The headmaster removed the jinx then and allowed the Healer to continue in her care for him. Thanking her for taking the time to heal this stranger, he and Hagrid turned away. "We will find out who he is when he is well enough to answer. Until then, all we can do is wait."

"Yessir."

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A/N Chapters may be subject to shortness. Please Review.

P.S. If there are a bunch of random rulers on this chapter, I blame ffnet for being a butt.


	3. Of Fears Unknown Part II

Thanks to Smithy, Little Miss Sparrow, Destinysway114, Authoressinhiding, Molly (sorry, no Jack), Garangel, TheDreamChild, Peanutbutter Oreos, Jess is a pirate, and RespectTheSporks (yes, I'm continuing this.) for all the wonderful reviews! (A/N: Things in parentheses back there are replies following the name of who it is to.)

Sorry for the long wait, had the writer's block. Ouch, I hope this doesn't happen _every_ time I end a story...

A note: This story does not parallel any of the Potter stories, but rather the world in which it takes place. Most likely around Harry's fourth year, but keep in mind that the Goblet of Fire and this do not coincide. Also, as I found in Wikipedia, Harry was born in 1980, making the setting year of this story about 1994. If anyone finds evidence to the contrary, please notify me so that I may correct my error(s). Thank you.

Also, please excuse Madam Pomfrey; I don't know her character very well, and I'm a wee bit lazy as to the rereading of the books. Grazi.

**Chapter Two: Of Fears Unknown -Part II**

Green eyes opened to greet the sun, consciousness once again flooding through one's limbs. There was a small moan, and he recognized it was his own. James blinked his eyes open father, thinking he was in the elaborate Captain's cabin on the _Dauntless_ that was his paradise. But no...it was too bright...too open...not so cozy as he recalled. All he saw was white. His eyes darted about. Where was he? This wasn't his cabin at all. His cabin...it was then that the memories flooded back to him. He would never again see his cabin. Never again feel the warmth, the golden familiarity, the simple feeling of 'home'. He sorely missed his mistress. And with her, the lost crew. He eased into a sitting position, cursing lightly as several things cracked, and several other things were either sore or stiff. The source of the brightness was the sun, shining in through rather large windows across the room from him. The walls were white, as were the curtains that were hung about his bunk. No. Not a bunk, but rather a narrow cot, which was, predictably, white. He found his wounds tended and cared for, and suddenly wondered who had found him, and if they knew how to get to...where? There was nothing left for him at Port Royal. The sea both called and depressed, with the memories of lost friends and chums. His old home in London was cold and foreboding. His Scottish birthplace had shunned him. There was nowhere he could go. No place for him. Perhaps he might stay here instead. Perhaps.

He started when a voice sounded beside him, on the other side of that curtain. "Madam Pomfrey," it whined. "This tastes horrible, how am I supposed to drink it?"

"Oh stop your whimpering, McCorner, and take your medicine already," replied a female voice. He heard someone grumbling and gulping something down as quickly as possible, and the woman continued: "See, now that wasn't so hard, was it? If you'd stop complaining like a tot and start acting like a third-year, ye would've had this all done and over with by now." More incomprehensible grumbling from the younger voice.

There was the sound of far-off footsteps approaching, and the voice of an elderly man addressed the woman, whom James took to be some sort of nurse. "Good morning, Madam Pomfrey."

"Ah, Dumbledore. I suspect you're here to see our most recent patient?" Chills traveled up James' spine. They were talking about him. With a deep blush, he pulled the sheets farther up his torso, realizing once again his lack of clothing.

"Yes. How is he?"

"His fever has gone down, but he hasn't woken up yet."

_Quite the contrary, Madam_, thought the former-Commodore, straightening his shoulders sorely and preparing himself to face these who had both saved him, and now held his fate in their hands.

"May we see him? I would like to see how his injuries are healing."

_We? 'Dumbledore' must have brought friends, then. Mustn't worry, James, it's never gotten you anywhere before. _He sat cross-legged, unclothed under the sheets, hugging himself for warmth. Why was it so cold in here?

"Yes, Professor." He heard the footsteps continue closer, and, while fully prepared to face these people, he nearly jumped out of his skin when Dumbledore passed the block of his curtain, followed by a rather very really and truly gargantuan man, with long, thick sable hair and matching beard, flecked with white here and there, dressed in faded brown clothing and covered in an old, grey frock coat, the likes of which the Naval commander had never seen before. He looked up at them, trying his best to look calm. "Ah. Well it seems you've woken up at last, then," the tall, thin old man addressed him. James nodded.

"Wulfric..." he murmured a greeting.

The larger man gaped at him in surprise. The elder's eyes twinkled. "That would be one of my middle names. How did you know?" No answer came. The stranger looked just as confused. "I am Professor Albus Dumbledore. Headmaster. And this is Professor Rubeus Hagrid, Groundskeeper and Keeper of the Keys. And you?"

"James," the stranger replied simply, with some tone of finality that said he would reveal no more than that.

"Ah. A pleasure, young man." James eyebrows rose.

"Can you please tell me where I am, sir?" he asked softly, voice gruff. Dumbledore regarded him over his half-moon glasses, blue eyes seeming to pierce right through him. Norrington broke eye contact, instead examining the room around him distractedly.

"You are in the Hospital Wing here at Hogwarts."

James' brows came together in confusion. "Hog-whats?"

"Hogwarts. School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"W...witchcraft?" he asked, a tremor running through him. His eyes narrowed dangerously. "Then...you...no no, I refuse to believe this nonsense. Tell me, where am I _really?_"

"If you do not desire to believe where you are, then I shall not tell you, nor shall I repeat myself."

"Then...you practice the Black Magic...wha..."

"No no, not Black Magic. Only wizardry. Ordinary everyday magic."

James' eyes widened, and he sprang from the bed, clutching the sheets to him. "Witches!" he cried, stumbling back with a sudden dizziness caused by rising before his body could regain enough strength.

"Easy, lad, we mean no harm," Dumbledore held out his hands to show harmlessness.

The man laughed hollowly. "Yes. The spawn of _Satan _mean me no harm. Yes, of course!" Hagrid took a half-step closer. "Stay away from me! I'll see you all burned, and your Dark Arts along with you!"

"Heavens no! The Dark Arts are only ever used by corrupt magical folk who wish to use them for evil," Dumbledore corrected him calmly. "No no, here at Hogwarts, we teach our students how to defend themselves against such devilry."

"So you are evil enough to corrupt children with your witchery, too?" Norrington asked bitterly, voice shaking. His vision blurred, and he found himself leaning heavily against the wall behind him.

"Yer still weak, Mr. James. We promise not ter hurt ye, we jus' want ter help."

He slid to the ground, shaking his head, eyes looking at nothing, carrying an almost hollow emptiness. "Don't...c-come a—..." He never finished the sentence; his head tipped forward, and he slumped over onto the floor and was still.

"What's all this!" cried a fraught Madam Pomfrey, hurrying over at the commotion of her distressed patient.

"He asked where 'e was, and Dumbledore told him, and 'e jus' went insane."

"I haven't seen a reaction like that since...since at the latest, the eighteenth century. Curious." Hagrid looked at him askance.

Pomfrey glared at him. "You've just caused one of the largest commotions ever in this Hospital Wing and managed to scare my patient into unconsciousness, and all you can say is curious."

"Of course you have my humblest apologies, Madam," Dumbledore added simply.

She made a contemptuous sound. Hagrid stooped down and carefully lifted the smaller man. "Please do be careful with him, Hagrid. Looks to have been through a great deal of hardship." The groundskeeper nodded and gently set Norrington back in bed.

Dumbledore looked on, before periwinkle eyes drifted again to the bandages around the man's forearm. He'd gotten a change to see the wound a day or so prior, and it baffled him. But now, upon hearing this complete and utter stranger call him by such the name that he did—Wulfric—he considered that maybe the mystery wasn't so much of one as he had thought. "One can only wonder what these coming days will bring," he murmured.

* * *

O.O Curious. ...Very curious... Review.


	4. Of Fears Known Part I

Hey all! So sorry for the wait—I had no ideas for the story (remember it was only an experiment) until recently. Now, I apologize in advance for the shortness, but don't worry, next chapter will be longer. A lot longer. Well...not that much, but longer than this–you get the idea! GAH! So anywho: Story is on hiatus. Not that I have no juice for it, just that it's obvious I can't work on more than one story at one time. So I'ma take a break from this for a wee bit, then continue working on it at a later time.

Yes, I changed my name.

Thanks for all the reviews from: Jess is a pirate, TheDreamChild, Authoressinhiding, NazgulQueen (sorry, I guess you went rabid...), Molly (no Jack), Garangel, Destinysway114, RespectTheSporks (all will be answered...I hope), Little Miss Sparrow (see prior reply), ArmoredSoul (no can do, mate. Sorry), sudoku, and Atticus620!

**Disclaimer:** If I owned it, Jack and James would be much less than enemies. Way less (Jess knows)

This chapter is dedicated to: Molly and her mum. My apologies for the long wait!  
And now on with the chapter!

**Chapter Three: The Unknown Known**

There was a knock at the door. "Come in," he called.

The door opened and Madam Pomfrey stepped into the round office. "May I speak with you, Dumbledore?"

"Of course, Madam. Might I venture to guess that this is about our patient?"

"Yes. Something is wrong. 'E seems agitated. 'E will not eat or rest. 'E just paces, back and forth, and doesn't speak at all, nor make eye contact; 'e just stares off into space."

"How long had he been like this?"

"Since he woke up again three days ago."

"I shall take a look at him." Dumbledore rose from his seat and followed her to the Hospital Wing.

_They're gone._ Back...forth... Back... forth...Back...forth... _I was so bent on killing that I killed them myself. I...I thought I was doing the good. _Back...forth...Back...forth...back...forth... _I killed those who were closest to me. Me. I was supposed to know what I was doing out there. I was supposed to be protecting them. But I failed... it's my fault. It's my fault. It's my fault. I'm a killer. I'm a failure. It's my fault. I don't deserve to live. Why should I when everyone and everything I know have sunk to the depths? No more. No more. No...more..._ Back...forth...back...forth...and so on.

Such was the state in which Dumbledore found him. "Master James," for indeed merely James did seem too informal, and no surname had been offered. "Is there anything troubling you?" James did not respond. He just kept pacing, hand balling in and out of fists, eyes staring unfocused at the ground. He looked so out of place in the white shirt and pants he'd been given; though in this place one did not know where he looked 'in place', but it did seem a tad unnatural.

"James, please have a bite to eat," Madam Pomfrey pleaded. Nothing. "He hasn't eaten or slept in days."

"Master James, might you have a seat and tell us what bothers you so?" The man said nothing, however he did sit obediently where he stood, eyes cast downward. "He is depressed," the Headmaster understood quickly. "Some grief ails him."

"Poor lad."

"Time heals all things, Madam. And thus time is all he shall need to recover. When he has exhausted himself enough with his melancholy, he should be willing to take nourishment and rest."

He became willing the very next day.

———–

A week passed following his recovery, and in a few days, he would be moved to a guest room in Hagrid's hut. He didn't complain. This place was all he had, and this Rubeus seemed friendly.

Now, he sat at the window, watching the moon rise in the light of the setting sun. For unknown reasons, he felt extreme discontent, agitation even. And for more unknown reasons, only watching the moon could keep him sane. It was full tonight, or close to it, and glowed a lovely shade of gold in the twilight. The room was empty for now, but that was okay with him. He wanted to be alone.

The last rays of sunlight faded, leaving only the glow of Selene to light the skies. A sudden wave of dizziness overcame James without warning. He put a hand to his head, touching his forehead to the cool glass. It soothed the feeling for a mere few moments before he felt the disconcerting sensation of falling. Sinking. Like jumping off the mizzen-top. He tried to cry out, but no sound would come. His heart pounding, and the pain, the pain! It felt as if he were being torn apart; such pain.

And then it stopped. All was still and silent. The pain was gone, the dizziness abating, the wind knocked out of him as if he had indeed fallen. _Wh...what happened?_ He picked himself up and crawled out from under... _Sheets?_... Something was off. As he tried t stand, no balance could be gained, and he fell to his hands..._Paws? Wait..._ The blurriness before his eyes clearing away, he was able to see clearly. He looked down at his hands and gasped...well, more a squeak, for hands they were indeed not so, with long curved claws growing from each finger. _Oh no..._ And then he noticed..._GREAT SCOTT! What happened to my clothes?_

The sheets were not sheets, but rather the white clothing he had been given. And it was huge. The room, once cold, now seemed warm, due to a light-colored fur coat which he discovered covering him.

Scuttling to the nearest bed, he climbed up the sheets trailing over the edge, stumbled across the mattress, and was able to climb to the sink where he could look at his reflection in the looking glass.

Long snout. Small ears. Sharp teeth. Beady eyes... And a mask of dark fur. _Good G-d! I'm a_...

* * *

Oh...I'm putting it on hiatus and I'm leaving it right there. So mean, aren't I? No worries this time though...The next chapter is well under way, to tide you all over at the halfway mark in the hiatus, ya savvy? So! Any takers? Who wants to guess what dear Jamesie has become? Who will venture to guess both what and why? Who really doesn't care? Tell me in your reviews! 

P.S. DUMBLEDORE IS SOOO HARD TO WRITE.

Niw kindly review. Ta!


	5. Of Fears Known Part II

Oki, so I know I'm supposed to be on hiatus, but I figured I would give you _something_ to tide you over, right? I'm so nice. :p Anywho, next chapter is also complete, so I'll update again soon-ish, 'kay?

Reviews! And so many, too!

**Spacebabie:** You win. Here's an update as a prize!

**Little Miss Sparrow:** Close, but no cigar. Wrong family of small mammals, mate.

**Winka: **Ooh, so sorry. Thanks for trying though. And thanks for reviewing. Here's another chapter as a consolation prize.

**Kahbou: **Thank you for the suggestions. There will be more action in the next chapter, but other than that, no this is only going to be a James story. Sorry, I hope yo enjoy it anyway.

**RespectTheSporks:** Actually, you were closer with the rat guess. Lol!

**Authoressinhiding: **No we don't! Wrong story, love. Keep trying, I'm sure you'll figure it out...partially because it's blatantly obvious, but still:p Thanks for the review. I'll read your updates after school today.

**TheDreamChild:** Nope. Close-ish, but nope. True about werewolves though. Get to updating again! I can't wait! O.o Epilogue...Then again, taketh thy time. Er...yeah. Thanks for the review.

**ArmoredSoul**: You were close. Ish. Harry Potter? Your wish is my command...to a point. :) Yay coincidences!

**Atticus620:** Ah, is he not adorable when he's furry? Thank you for the review!

**Jess is a pirate: **It's ok, mate. At least you reviewed before I updated. Anywho, INTERESTING PLOTLINE AHOY!

**Disclaimer:** Disney1: With the wind at quarter astern, we won't catch them!  
Disney2: We don't need to catch them, just get them in range of the long nines.  
Disney1: Hands come about! Run out the guns! We are to fire on our own ship, sir?  
Disney2: I would rather see her at the bottom of the ocean than in the hands of an obsessive fangirl.

**Chapter Four: The Unknown Known - Part II**

"Harry, I can't believe you left your wand!" a young female voice echoed in the Hospital Wing.

"I know, Hermione," a young man could be heard replying. "I was just so ready to get out of here that I left in a rush."

"Yeah, Hermione," a third voice added to the conversation. "Give him a break. You'd be just as crazy to get out of here after a week too, I'd bet."

The three persons entered the room. The girl with long, mousy brown hair and sweet eyes, and two boys---one with tousled black hair, round glasses and green eyes, and the other with bright red hair and many freckles. All three were dressed in black robes, each with a golden insignia with a fancy letter H at the centre. "I'm just saying he shouldn't have let his eagerness get the better of him."

"Aha. Here it is," Harry walked over to the sink and picked up his wand off the ledge before the mirror. "Whoa!" He jumped when a ball of fur on the shelf suddenly moved.

"Oh look," Hermione hurried over and scooped it up. "A little ferret. I wonder who it belongs to." The little weasel squeaked irritably. "Sorry to wake you from your nap," she apologized to it. It snuffled and curled back into a ball, though watching them warily with its adorable little beady eyes.

"Er, Hermione," the redhead started warily, not trusting the small creature, "put the little bugger down, will you? It probably has rabies."

"Don't call him that, Ron. And if he had rabies, he would have bitten me by now. Let's take him with us and find out who he belongs to."

"Sure, Hermione," Harry agreed, scratching the ferret's head. And the little beastie was taken from the Hospital Wing.

—————

"Dumbledore! Albus, Albus!"

"Come in."

Madam Pomfrey rushed in. "Pardon my intrusion."

"Not at all. Is there something wrong?"

"It's James. He's gone missing."

"Perhaps he went off to Hagrid's early." Dumbledore spoke calmly and slowly.

"But 'e left 'is clothes. Something is amiss about that man."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with a hidden knowledge behind his half-moon glasses. "How has that bite of his been?"

"It doesn't seem to be healing very quickly. And he won't accept any healing potions."

"Is that so?" He unfolded from his chair and went to the window. "It's very clear out this evening. The moon is full and bright. Don't you agree that it nearly looks like twilight in the way the sky is lit so brightly?"

"Yes, but what does that have t' do with...?"

"Would you like some tea, Madam?"

The invitation to tea. Always the subtle direction for the guest to gather their thoughts and put the pieces together. She took a sip, making a sour face at having forgotten to add the sugar, and thought a moment before she understood, expression growing shocked. "So then ye mean...he's a..."

"Yes," Albus replied gravely. "A werewolf is loose in Hogwarts."

—————

James did not quite understand what was going on. He was being carried by a witch, and yet he sensed no danger. They were entering a large room with four long tables and floating candles, the room filled with what must also be other witches and wizards, and he sensed no danger. This girl, this 'Hermione' girl, was showing him to many people and asking if he belonged to them. He felt confusion, but still no danger.

"Well well! What do we have here?" sneered a voice. Now he felt danger.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Harry demanded.

"Rumor has it Granger found a lost ferret."

"So what if I did?"

"I just wanted to see if it was the ferret I lost."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "You don't have a ferret!"

"I do now!" And he snatched the little creature from her grasp. James let loose and angry squeak and sank his teeth into the boy's hand. He was dropped, Malfoy cursing and grabbing his hand.Norrington hit the ground running, scrambling under the nearest table, barely evading an explosion behind him. He resolved to stay underneath said table.

A few seventh-years stepped in to stop the fourth-year from casting anything else, though he gave forth the excuse that his ferret had been stolen and he was trying to get it back.

"Get him back! You were trying to kill him!" Hermione exploded. "We were just trying to find his owner."

"And I'm the only one who's claimed him so far," Malfoy sneered, crossing his arms.

"Look. Hermione can keep him fer dinnah, and then you _both_ will take this dispute to a professah," the seventh-year suggested in a Scottish accent, growing irritated. ((A/N: If I totally butchered the accent, I'm REALLY sorry!))

"Speaking of professors...where is everybody?" Ron pointed to the high table at the head of the Hall. All the seats were empty.

Just then, another boy burst into the room, panting heavily as if he had been running. "Neville," Harry greeted him. "What's happened?"

"The Professors are having a meeting. They sent me to say we should start dinner without them."

"All the sooner the meal will be over and we can settle this," the blonde smirked, walking away.

Hermione leaned down under the table and called to the ferret. "It's all right for now," she said. "Everything will be settled soon."

_Are you sure?_ James sniffed warily at the hand she offered. _What will happen if it does not?_ However, he trusted her (for some strange reason) and climbed into her palm, and she picked him up and brought him to one of the tables.

"You're not going to put that thing on the table, are you?"

"Don't complain, Ron. He's got to eat too!"

"But on the table?"

_I'll behave myself, I promise._ He was still in shock after his transformation, and was not entirely thinking straightly. His mind could hardly comprehend what had just happened. However, food sounded like a good idea.

Platters appeared before them. With a startled squeak, the ferret dodged behind a goblet. "It's okay," the girl giggled. "It's just dinner."

_Right, I knew that,_ he thought indignantly.

She served some of the food to herself, scooped up some mashed potatoes on her finger and offered it to the little weasel. James' tiny stomach grumbled irately, and he licked the soft food from the proffered digit, a paw placed on her hand. ...And it wasn't bad. ...

Supper ended, and still no sign of the missing professors; however, a Professor was standing at the door as everyone left. "Professor McGonagall," Hermione strode over, Norrington cradled in her arms, Malfoy and the seventh-year approaching moments later.

"Yes, Miss Granger, what can I help you with?" the elderly woman inquired.

"These two are having a dispute over a disowned ferret."

_Disowned? Do I not own myself?_

"Go on."

"Granger here found it an' has been looking fer its owner. Malfoy claims it belongs ta him, but Granger refuses to believe it is his."

And both went on to recount the story from their own views. "I'm sorry, Hermione. But if Draco is the only one to have claimed the ferret, then it is only fair for him to take it."

"Fair to whom? Surely not the ferret—he doesn't even like him!"

"I'm sorry, Hermione, but I must consider Draco's rights, too."

"You heard her, Granger. Hand him over."

"If he's yours then what's his name?"

"Beelzebub."

"And where did you get him?"

"At Hogsmeade last week. Now give him here."

"I'll find a way to save you. I promise," she whispered to the ferret before dejectedly handing him over to the Slytherin.

As the demonic child carried him to the Slytherin commons room, a sharp sense of foreboding washed over him. _Lord...are you punishing me for something?_

_

* * *

_Once again too lazy to edit for typos. I have to go to school soon, anyway, so I don't much have time. I just wanted to get this up while I was still in the mood to type it up, you know? All right, so there you go. 

Kindly review. Much obliged. -bows-


	6. To Be Feared

Ok, all, I know it's been a while, and I've actually had this chapter done for quite some time, but I can honestly say I hadn't been in the mood to update. Technically I'm still not, but I figured that since I'm out of school today with illness, I should work on getting this chapter up instead of dying of boredom. Gah. Dizzy. Excuse the typos, please, I've been on the laptop far too long in this state to edit.

**TheDreamChild and Spacebabie:** You'll be finding out soon enough.

**Lady-Jana-Sparrow, OllieOfFreeOxen, Winka, Little Miss Sparrow, Atticus620, and Jess is a pirate:** Thank you for the reviews!

**Katherine-the-Crowned:** Right. Worst place to be when you have absolutely no idea what's going on...

**Authoressinhiding:** Sorry, not so soon after all...

**ArmoredSoul:** AHH! HOW can you be laughing at poor James? You'll be crying for him halfway through this one!

**Disclaimer** Wow, I'm so sick I can't even come up with a witty disclaimer.  
I don't own. There. Blah.

Enjoy.

**Chapter Five: To be Feared - Part I**

He was taken down, down, down to a place that must have once been a dungeon where the prisoners awaiting some execution would have been kept. Even in the amount of time that it seemed had passed since those dreadful days, the hopelessness and despair still hung thickly in the air. He would have scratched and bitten, but his tiny ferret body was held out of reach for him to be able to do so. Yes, hopeless and bleak seemed to describe his situation very well.

They stopped in front of one section on the wall, and someone called out, "Balderdash!"

_I'll say! Finally, someone sees it my way,_ James misunderstood.

The section of wall swung open like a door to reveal a not-so-cozy Common Room, fireplace burning evilly at the opposite wall. Malfoy smiled devilishly, throwing the weasel to the ground and pulling out his wand. "Time to dance." James once again hit the ground running, and barely managed to scoot out of the way as a jinx exploded behind him. He hid under a chair, however this time there was no seventh-year to stop the madness. A large boy, whom Draco had referred to as Goyle, removed the chair. It seemed the entire House of Slytherin had crowded around to watch.

_What is wrong with these children?_ James wondered amid his growing panic. A toe-biting jinx bit at his tiny paws, and he jumped into the air. But no matter what he climbed over or under, the pain did not go away. The Slytherins cheered and laughed. He raced toward the entrance, snuffing about the wall for an escape, but none were there. _Open, open!_ Nothing happened. _Balderdash...some kind of password? If only I could speak!_

The torment—if one would see that as a fitting description—went on for an hour or so before the call of homework and sleep took the children away from the activity. _"Petrificus totalis,"_ was Malfoy's last spell of the night. Norrington keeled over and could not move. "That should keep him for the night."

"Really? I thought we were going t' get rid of him after we had our fun."

"We are." James' heart froze over. "But I have a little surprise show in the morning in store for everyone before we do." And so they left him in the dark, unable to move, unable to cry out.

—————

He was awoken by the whispering and snickering of many students. Judging by that many of them were still in pajamas, and the light was much dimmer, he concluded that it was not yet morning. Apparently the watch on patrol had just passed for the last time, and things could 'really' get started. He was placed on a white sheet from one of the beds so that he could be seen more easily in the dim light. The paralysis jinx was lifted, and he would have made a run for it had he not known it was hopeless. He was sure that he could survive until morning and make his escape.

The next hour or so passed much like the previous night. And, in this much calmer state of mind, it really wasn't so unbearable. And then... "_Crucio!_" Pain shot though him like a lance. No. Worse than a lance. Pain that was like...nothing. Nothing could compare to this. He keeled over, unable to move but for few frantic spasmodic twitched. Even if he could have screamed no sound would have come. His consciousness filled with the pain so that he couldn't hear the laughter of the children. Couldn't see the room around him as the torture went on.

_If it is your intent to kill me, Lord, please do so without delay._ Yet there was some spark inside him, some rebellious flame burning wildly in spite of a torrential downpour that did not want to die. He tried to fight the curse, squeaking loud in pain and rage, twitching becoming writhing, but his struggles only succeeded in covering him with the sheet.

At last the demonic boy raised his wand, and the pain slowly began to ebb. They watched the little ferret continue to writhe under the sheets before Malfoy spread his arms, with a triumphant smirk. "Well? How's that for a show?" The Slytherins applauded.

_This must be what Hell is like,_ thought a recovering James despairingly.

"Right. Now that we've had our fun... _Avada Kedav—._" He never finished the spell for the Death Curse. The ferret was doing something strange as it thrashed in pain. It was getting bigger. "All right, who cast _Engorgio_?"

James was changing shape. Again. He recognized this additional agony as the same from the previous sundown. How was this possible? he wondered absently amid his physical pandemonium. Still moving from ferret to man, seeing his opportunity, he scrambled for the entrance, wrapped securely in the sheets, pain purposefully and momentarily forgotten. The students, too bewildered to stop him, instead jumped and lunged out of his path. As soon as he could speak, he let out a gasped word, "Balderdash!" and staggered out. Within moments, he was amazingly human again. All he saw of Malfoy and the others as he fled were their shocked faces. His own completed the set. He sprinted away from that place as fast as his recovering body would allow. _What's happening to me?_ he asked himself as he ran. _Where am I?_ The panic of the abuse and his metamorphoses had not yet abated, and now, fearing what he had become, even more panic was setting in.

He followed a rough memory of the previous night's route, but could not seem to find his way above ground. He finally came to a halt in one of the dark, stone corridors before a window, small and plain, through which a dull gray light shone. Dawn. He collapsed against the wall in the light, sliding painfully to the floor. Though said pain was moving off, it was doing so very sluggishly. Blood ran down his arm now where his struggles had opened up the wound again. The wound that had made him like this, he decided morosely. _I am in Hell,_ he concluded, surrendering a small sum of his sanity.

—————

Several cries of alarm sounded momentarily before becoming muffled and then silencing. Severus Snape hastened through the dungeons toward the sound, the echoes of conversation from the meeting echoing in his mind.

"_Do no alert the students this time; it will only amount in a mass of panic which will no doubt hinder our efforts. We shall instead search for signs of his presence."_

_And if we find him?" Severus had asked._

"_Capture him and bring him to me. Alive, as you well know," Dumbledore replied simply._

"_And if 'e harms th' students, what d'we do then?" piped up Hagrid._

"_If I am correct in guessing that tonight is his first change, then he will be too distracted to cause much harm."_

"_And if he does?"_

"_Then we are wasting our time debating while innocent lives are in danger. Go now."_

Snape had been making his tenth circuit of the Slytherin corridors when he had heard the commotion. He had followed a faint trail of blood from the entrance to the dungeon's Common Room. But now, the trail had stopped, as if the wound making it had been covered. It was morning, and he despaired of finding the stranger now that he had become a man again. He rounded a corner... And then he saw it: a form in the light, bundled up in sheets and curled into a fetal position. Closer inspection discovered it was a man, and said man was muttering disorientedly to himself. "C-c...crus..cruc-cruc-cruc...crucio...c-c-crrru...cruuu...ci..." and such. His incoherent babble silenced abruptly when he discovered he was staring down the length of a wand. His eyes followed it to a hand, up an arm, and to a face, and flickered from weapon to face and back a few times. "Kill me now," he said softly, voice filled with anguish. Snape did not move. If he had heard the plea, he gave no inclination of it. "Please...I beg of you..."

"_Bring him back alive,"_ Dumbledore's words echoed once more in his mind. "Why would you plea so for the gift of death?" he asked in his cold, indifferent purr.

"I deserve it. After all the people I destroyed, it is obvious now that I have arrived in Hell. And yet I have not died. I wish to be dead in this realm of death and torture. Not among the living."

"People you destroyed," Snape repeated with satisfaction, his disdain for werewolves clear in his voice and expression.

"Yes," James breathed with much grief. He wanted to die. Yet he wanted to live. Yet he _deserved_ to die. And it was tearing him up inside.

After a moment's hesitation, Severus grasped him by the injured arm and hauled him to his feet (at which point Norrington gasped with pain). "Come with me," he ordered coldly, and began to drag him away.

—————

"Dumbledore," Snape addressed the Headmaster in the Hospital Wing. The elderly wizard turned to greet them. "I found our _guest_," he spat the word like a curse, "just after dawn this morning in a Slytherin corridor, babbling incoherently about _Crucio_." James flinched, as if merely the word brought him pain. "He has confessed to—."

He was cut off as Dumbledore raised a hand for silence. "Allow me to gather everyone else so they may also hear what you must say." And he turned, robes flourishing, and was gone.

Snape was looking rather pleased with himself. He released his biting grip on the frightened man. "Stay in here."

"May I... get dressed?" James asked in hardly more than a whisper, never taking his eyes from the floor.

"You have clothing in here?" The stranger nodded. "Very well."

About twenty minutes later, the Headmaster returned, other Professors and a good portion of the staff in tow. Severus seized the stranger by the arm, and dragged him roughly from the windowsill where he had been sitting, staring listlessly out the windowpane, meriting a cry of pain and alarm. "Severus," Dumbledore chastised, "there will be no need for such maltreatment."

Snape grudgingly released the man, eyes blazing within the confines of his emotionless face. "I found him this morning little after dawn muttering to himself about _Crucio._" Many suddenly looked alarmed. "He asked for death."

"Why would you ask for death, Mister James?" Dumbledore regarded him over his half-moon glasses.

"Because I deserve it," he replied softly, ruefully, staring at his feet.

A few of the professors murmured amongst themselves. "And what of _Crucio_?" James flinched again. "Why were you speaking of an Unforgivable Curse?" another asked.

"I was...being punished."

Several gasped. "Someone in this school cast _Crucio_? Who?" James didn't answer.

"Punished for what?" a third asked.

His head shot up to meet the Professor's gaze, looking suddenly afraid. And then the fear left his eyes to be replaced by a hollowness and the wetness of well-contained tears. "Murder," he replied after what seemed like an eternity, voice shaking.

"Murder!" "I thought he wouldn't do anything." "How can he remember anything?" "Dumbledore, you said—."

"Silence," Albus quieted them calmly, face revealing nothing. He turned to James, speaking vehemently. "Who did you kill?" Silence. "_Who_!"

A single tear escaped the man's eye, following the deep, well-worn track that crossed his face like a scar, and he turned away, burning with shame. "My...only family," his voice shook with grief and rage directed at himself. He sat promptly where he stood, head in his hands, and said no more.

The staff moved some distance away, into a tight huddle, and began to speak urgently among themselves. "Who does he have in this school as a relative?" "I don't think it was in this school, or else he would have known what Hogwarts is." "We should take a head count." "Or look for the body." "Dumbledore, you said he was no threat." "Even if he did not kill anyone here, he is indeed a killer. Thus, he is still a threat to the safety of the students." This last comment from Snape.

"Then we should be rid of him."

"Oh please—the poor boy is in no condition to be thrown out," Madam Pomfrey interjected.

"That werewolf will be far more trouble than he is worth."

"I do not mean to be a burden," came a soft voice. They turned to see Norrington standing there, chin raised defiantly, shoulders squared, eye contact made. "And I do _not_ need to depend on the likes of you and your kind, nor anyone else, for that matter. I'll leave. But I will thank you _not_ to make such ridiculously inaccurate accusations. I am no werewolf."

"What do you mean—?"

"Then what did you become?" Dumbledore interrupted, before an unending wave of questions could bombard the man hiding his disorientation.

"What?"

"You became something else during the night, did you not?" James was surprised by the kindness and softness of the Headmaster's voice, the expression in his periwinkle eyes that twinkled as if he already knew everything.

"I—yes."

"And you remember your actions as of last night?"

"Yes."

"Then would you kindly inform us as to what you became?"

His shoulders tensed, and he suddenly broke eye contact, looking down instead as some panic threatened to slip out. He was silent, hands balling into fists as he pushed all emotion back under its barrier. "A ferret," he replied.

Snape's eyebrows rose. Many looked surprised. "A ferret?"

His emerald eyes flashed irately. "Must I always repeat myself with you people?"

"Will you excuse us, please?"

"But of course," he growled tersely, bowing away from them.

"If he is a ferret then he can't be that much of a threat to the children." "No, no, ferrets can be quite bite-y." "Then what if someone picked him up?" "Didn't you say Hermione Granger found a ferret?" "Yes. It bit Malfoy, but not so hard as to break the skin." "He has killed before. Does that not count as a threat?" "So he is dangerous after all." "Not at all," Snape broke in. "Surely all of you have taken into account that this man is a Muggle?"

Everyone looked shocked, as if they hadn't figured it out. Then again, none of them knew him. "It is true. I have noticed his fear of magic and reluctance to take potions," Dumbledore put in.

"'E's downright terrified. Ever since 'e came, 'e hadn't settled," said Madam Pomfrey.

"Then we have a Muggle in our school." "A were-ferret Muggle." "How did he even get onto the grounds?" "How is it possible for him to have been a ferret?"

"It is a rare occurrence, but it has happened before," was the Headmaster's input. Curious heads turned to look at him with questioning and confused expressions. "You see, when a werewolf consumes its prey, blood will stain the fangs for a time. If at any time while the blood remains in the werewolf's mouth the creature bites into something else, that blood will mix with the blood of its next victim, and there would result what we understand to exist in the very same room in which we converse."

"Poor lad," Madam Pomfrey gave her sympathies.

"Nevertheless, he is still a Muggle, bound to tell other Muggles what he has seen," growled Snape.

"We could keep him from leaving." "But it would be too much trouble to keep him here." "Yes, well we must do something."

"Severus," Albus spoke over them, "will you prepare a memory potion for our guest?"

As he sat by, watching as rain traced winding shapes against the outside of the window where a shower had opened up, listening it, James felt himself growing tense. "Of course," he heard Snape purr icily. A memory potion? What was that? Alarm shot through his limbs. Even here, he was in danger.

"Why don't we put him in some sort of jail? He's a killer; should he not be punished?"

"No," James rose quickly from his seat in the window, and the wizards and witches turned as one to face him with inquiring looks. "Any jail time ends only in a hanging, and as much as I want to be gone, I _will not_ go down like that. I. Will. Not."

"A hanging?"

"You won't take me."

"Calm yourself, Mister James," Albus strode over to him. "Will you be willing to tell us—who exactly did you kill?"

James met his eyes defiantly, and there were a few tense moments of silence as he struggled for sound around the lump in his throat, struggled to push down all emotion. "My crew,' he answered monotonously.

"Your crew?" McGonnagal repeated questioningly.

"I will not repeat myself," he replied in that same eerily single-toned voice. A small spark of—fear?—flashed momentarily in his eyes. "I'll keep your secret. I won't tell anyone. G-d..." he shook his head with a humorless smile, "...they would burn me alive simply for speaking of it."

"Burn you alive?" The professors exchanged shocked expressions, a concerned murmur rising among them.

"There is and echo in here."

"James," Albus silenced them, "I think it is time you told us your story."

The Naval Commander sighed with a shake of his head as if he had been expecting this. He took a deep breath to calm himself, locking gazes with the Headmaster. "My name is James Norrington, and I was a Commodore of His Majesty's Royal Navy in the Caribbean..."

* * *

All righty then, so that means I don't have to worry about updating for another...year! (Kidding obviously) Leave a review on your way out, please! P.S. It was a long chapter. don't complain.

REVIEW!


	7. Not To Be Feared Part I

Er...Hey, all! I, uh...meant to have this posted by yesterday, but I simply didn't have the time to get it finished. I know I'm taking a long time in updating this, and my focus isn't exactly on this story like it should be, so please, bear with me. That aside, I do not have a detailed plot thought out for this yet—I have a plot, no worries! It's just the totally general version. -sweatdrop- Not my fault. Oki, it is, but hey, I warned you all: this is still just an experimental fic anyway. Yes, I shall indeed be trying to update at least a teensy bit more often—hey, a little is better than none!—and I can only just continue to apologize like the maniac we all know I am, and hope that you all are able to enjoy the story, regardless.

Thank you all for such the lovely reviews! There were so many: Captain-Jana-Sparrow, Katherine-The-Crowned, Little Miss Sparrow (you're right!), ArmoredSoul (Fong? o.0;; I shouldn't ask, should I? Lovely review, by the way xD), Winka, Cort, Atticus620 (well, if I don't continue, you wouldn't be able to review anymore anyway, so yeah, it kind of both makes sense _and_ is redundant at the same time :) ), TheDreamChild (the dull edge? Hit him with the sharp edge next time! Oy!), Amaruk Wolfheart of the Wraith, Jess is a Pirate, and chillianfan01.

**Disclaimer****: Authoress: -sniffsniff- -sniffsniff- -sniffsniff- Ah...franchises.  
Jerry Bruckheimer and J. K. Rowling: -shoot- ... Our franchises.**

**Chapter Six: Not to be Feared- Part I**

"You are from a time other than our own, Mister Norrington."

"Another time?" the man gazed at him confusedly.

"Yes. Or perhaps even another Realm."

"But how is that possible?" McGonagall asked.

"A star has fallen. And you in its path."

James' eyes grew large. "Is there any way for him to go back, then?"

"Go back?" Norrington asked softly, as if unsure of whether or not he wanted to return. He shook his head. "A murderer and a monster. ...I cannot go back."

"That incident was an accident."

"That may be, but it was still my folly."

"Then you must move on. Accept your mistakes and your imperfections and continue with your life."

"What life? It will have cost me my commission and my freedom. Some lord or other will come and place a price on my head, and the bounty hunters will come in throngs."

"Even so, you must go back. Too long outside your own Realm may erase all memory you have from your life there as _this_ Realm attempts to maintain the world order."

"I do not wish to remember that life."

"Have you no good memories to look back on fondly?" James thought a few moments, though his expression held the answer clear. "What of your Elizabeth?" He snapped his mouth shut, looking up. Sure, she had broken his heart, humiliated him, and used him, but what would it be like never to be able to remember her smile or her presence or anything about her at all? It froze his heart. "There, you see?" Dumbledore encouraged him gently when his race fell with the realization.

"But...how?"

"I do not know. I shall look into the subject. Until then... you shall meet with and speak to Professor Lupin, and learn from him the details of your condition."

"Condition? You speak of it as if it was a sickness. Do you imply that there is some cure?"

"Not at all," came a prompt reply, snuffing out the hope that had just momentarily sparked. "But there are ways to make the creature grow dormant."

James began to look hopeful again, but the expression was interrupted by realization. "Does it involve your magic?"

"It may."

"Then I am not so sure I want the help."

"Then he will teach you to control yourself. Now, he has been sick as of late, so until he has recovered, you shall assist Hagrid in caring for the animals."

"Animals—you mean horses and such?" Norrington asked suspiciously.

"Magical creatures," Dumbledore amended.

"Magical."

"Now who is doing the repeating?" the Headmaster's eyes twinkled. James' expression hardened. He was hardly in the mood to joke. Any other time, this may have merited a smile—even a small chuckle. "They do not practice magic, Mister Norrington, but are rather only seen in the magical region."

"Ah. And what purpose do these animals serve in a school."

"How to care for them or defend oneself against them. Even how to use them for personal benefit. Here, I shall take you to him myself."

"All right." James followed him. It wasn't like he had a choice anyway...

——————————

"Ah, the breeze. Is it not a beautiful day?"

James shivered in his light, borrowed clothing, carefully stepping over a stone in his path to avoid injuring his still-bare feet. "Maybe for you," he said amiably, "but I am accustomed to the heat of the Caribbean. Might there be...?" He trailed off, stopping in his tracks when a hut came into view. But it was not the building he was looking at.

"Mister Norrington?" Dumbledore returned to his side. "What is the matter?" There was no answer. He followed the man's fearful gaze to a small wooden structure resembling a hitching post. Several furry, dead forms were strung up and hanging from it. James swallowed loudly, beginning to shake. "Look away, Mister Norrington."

"Wh...what are they for?"

"To feed hippogriffs. Have no fear, lad, they only eat _dead—."_

"Ferrets, though."

"Yes."

His voice grew harsh. "What an uncanny coincidence."

"Now, Mister Norrington, you must not jump to conclusions. Calm yourself, now."

Dumbledore was right, James realized, taking a deep breath. Here he was blubbering like a fool, ready to jump at everything he saw. Hardly reminiscent of the naval prize he had been. "It's...so much colder here than in the Caribbean," he continued their prior conversation. "Are we far north?"

"North of England, yes. Scotland, actually."

They began to walk again. "I...may need something warmer to wear until winter ends."

"It is actually the beginning of Autumn."

"Really? Oh. My apologies. It has been such a long time since I have been so high atop the world, and I was unsure as to how close in synchronization the seasons of our Realms are."

"It is quite all right. And I can assure you we will find something warmer for you to wear."

"Thank you." They drew near the hut, former-commodore purposely averting his gaze from the hippogriff hitching post.

Dumbledore rapped his knuckles against the wood of the large door. "Jes' be a minute. Th' baby unicorn is nursin'," called a voice from inside. A deep sense of wonder suddenly filled James. Unicorns? Creatures of myth now real—what other chance might he have to work with such creatures? The door creaked open and Hagrid stood there, filling the doorway. "Ah, what have we 'ere?"

"I understand we have come a bit earlier than expected, Rubeus, do you mind?"

"Not at all. In fact, yer just in time t' help me out with the other foal. 'E's downright afraid of me and won't take nourishment—that is, if yer willin' ter help."

"It would be my honor," Norrington said sincerely, extending his hand, which Hagrid—with his trash can-lid-sized hand—shook heartily.

"I will see you both another time. Breakfast is about to begin."

"I won't be there, ye know," Hagrid reminded him. "We'll have our hands full with all th' creatures that came in yesterday."

"I'll be sure to pass that along. And Hagrid," Albus added, "expect a visit from me later this morning. We have some very important things to speak about."

"Yessir." The Headmaster nodded and left. "Well c'mon in, Mister James," Hagrid said friendily, stepping aside.

"Thank you." James stepped in, looking around the room as he crept farther inside. The building was lit by a few lanterns ad a warm fire on the hearth. He suddenly felt dwarfed by everything—it was all so much bigger than normal. Yet smaller still than himself were the two forms in the corner. He crept closer. One was standing, and as he drew nearer, squinting in the dim, flickering light, he could see that it was a golden baby horse, a small, crystalline horn growing from its forehead. He cautiously approached, and the little creature squealed and rushed past him to seek shelter with Hagrid who, during this time, had been preparing more food for the wee ones. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle her."

"No worries. They're generally more friendly with women than men. It took me th' longest time ter gain her trust."

He smiled faintly. "Then I don't feel quite so sorry any more."

There was a faint growling noise and he hastily wrapped his arms around his middle, looking embarrassed. Hagrid laughed. "Looks like I shoulda made breakfast fer _us_ before _their _second helpings. Be back in a minute. Here, see if you can coax th' li'l guy ter take some food." He handed his guest one of the bottles before going back to the cooking cauldron.

Norrington glanced back over his shoulder at the other form, which was lying down, curled up under a blanket by the fire. He crept closer, watching for movement. A few feet away, not minding where his feet fell, he accidentally nudged a stool, which scraped softly against the stone floor. A tiny, golden head shot up, ears pressed forward, eyes wide. Again wonder filled the former-Commodore. This close to such a creature of lore! "It's all right, little one." He stooped slowly, cautiously, extending the bottle with great care. The tiny creature shied away. "No? Have you not grown hungry?" He was well aware of how quickly he had put himself to work—but it felt good to finally be doing something. Anything. As he eased to a sitting position beside the colt, said colt pinned his ears and tried to rise. The man's movements suddenly ceased, and it almost seemed as if he had gone to sleep, leaning against the wall, bottle resting within reach in his lap.

The baby unicorn regarded the Muggle for several long minutes. Then, the smell of warm, honeyed milk as it dripped lazily from the container reached his suddenly curious young nose. His tiny stomach growled irately. Slowly, ever so slowly, he extended his head, mouth open, toward the teat.

Unbeknownst to the little beastie, James peeked one eye open, excitement blooming in his chest as it began to drink greedily, making hungry and contented noises, and making a mess of everything. However, he was far from gaining the little unicorn's trust. He was certain that if he even so much as smiled, he would frighten it away. Hagrid turned and saw the scene, and would have made some excited remark had Norrington not opened his eyes and shaken his head very subtly, so slightly that it seemed almost a trick of the eye.

The foal finished its meal and withdrew as quickly as it could, as if the emptiness of the bottle would wake the human from his slumber. And it nearly did—he had been about to rise when he realized his exhaustion. He had gone through two transformations and torture to boot. Needless to say, his sleep was no longer feigned. "Oh," said Hagrid when he saw this, "an' I jus' got finished makin' yer breakfast." With an indifferent shrug, he placed a blanket over his guest and went off to take care of some of the other creatures under his care.

——————————

A half hour later, the man awoke to a nudge to the bottle which still lay idly in his hands. He started, momentarily forgetting where he was. There was a squeal and something beside him bolted. "Oh no, I didn't mean to—."

"No worries, Mister James, Marlie here was just getting a little hungry." He looked up and saw the golden filly trotting eagerly over to the large gamekeeper for another helping. "Ye want ter try feedin' the little fella again?"

"Ah, sure." His stomach grumbled again as he rose to his feet. "But first...I think breakfast is in order. Might you–ah–have any food?"

"No need ter feel so awkward Mister James, yer a guest here. Besides, yer breakfast is all ready." A plate of bacon and eggs sat at the table.

"I don't aim to be a burden," he said with a certain force.

"Yer not—."

"I just cannot take what is not mine without giving something in return."

"A trader, eh—good fair head on yer shoulders. Well, ye could always work off yer food and lodging helpin' with th' critters."

James nodded. "Agreed." His stomach growled again.

"Don't be shy now, lad, eat up!" He did, and Hagrid went to feed little Marlie the filly. "I, ah…noticed that her brother has no horn… Why is that?"

"Oh, can't say really. Ev'ry once in awhile there's a unicorn tha's not a unicorn. No one's yet figured why." James chuckled to himself. "Ye think that's funny?"

"No, no, my apologies. You just reminded me of an old, old friend. …Well, perhaps not so much of a friend now—I've hardly seen him in the last decade." His fork sounded on the plate. "I wonder…how is it the you are raising these two? I mean…what of their mother?" he asked, turning around in his stool to face the other person.

"There're a lot of parts to a unicorn that are valuable to th' magical folk. Now, Hogwarts 'as nev'r had ter deal with poachers afore—they've never been able t' get onter th' grounds. But this un' snuck in posing as someone's pet cat—an animegus, if you will." James merely blinked. "Anyhow, Beauty here—the foals' mum—was sleepin' with 'er kin when the poacher came and killed her. Little Marlie was still asleep, but her brother… 'is mum was killed right afore his eyes."

James turned further to look at the sleeping form in the corner. "He and I have that in common," he said morosely, falling silent for a few moments.

"Oh?" This character seemed so rigid, Hagrid thought. He didn't have anything to lose to try and get him to open up a little.

"Yes," came a cold reply with the finality that nothing else would be revealed. But then… "It…I…" he sighed frustratedly, silencing to get his words straight. "……..I was four," he said simply, with a tone that made Hagrid unsure as to whether he would continue. There was a long time in which they were silent, and he rose and strode over to the sleeping bundle, stooping to watch him sleep. "It's… I've let it become difficult for me to trust other people, and………I have found that I cannot let them in…….nor let myself out. …………Trapped," the last word came in a whisper. There was another long silence.

"There's no one here means ye harm, Mister James."

A sudden anger sparked inside him. "Oh? Then I suppose it is mere coincidence that I have become food for your monsters!"

"Monsters?"

"Hippos—griffins—whatever they are!"

"What d'ye mean by that?"

There was a knock at the door. "You're about to find out," James replied through gritted teeth, taking a calming breath and telling himself _Get a hold of yourself! _as Hagrid opened said door to greet Dumbledore. He normally didn't express his emotions. No exceptions. But now…_ Maybe you're wound too tight. Look, now, you've frightened the colt. _"It's all right, little one," he said softly, offering the bottle to him.

The golden foal looked fearfully around the hut as the Headmaster stepped in, apprehensive gaze coming to rest on the muggle as if to say, "I'm scared here."

"It's okay. This place scares me too," he said in response, holding up the bottle a little. The tiny creature pricked his ears, as if he had understood every word. And as if said words had been of consolation, he reached out and drank hungrily. James dared not move.

At the same time, Dumbledore and Hagrid were conversing quietly at the table, and the ex-Commodore had to force himself not to eavesdrop, as had become habit in the Navy. Their voices were lowered to confidential murmur, anyway, as if they thought it rude to talk about him louder. Hagrid gasped at incredulously at something he had just been told, and James heaved a sigh, slowly rising. Perhaps a walk would help. If he knew what this place held in store, he might feel a little more in his own element: calm alertness. The key point there was calm. He crept silently and unnoticed out the back door. Well, unnoticed but for one set of eyes.

He stepped into the bright sunlight, the door creaking softly closed behind him. Looking back toward the castle, he saw the pumpkin patch—and they were huge! And, laying atop one of said giant pumpkins, set out perhaps to dry in the sun and gleaming from a fresh cleaning were—_Are those my clothes?_

They were. Blood stains and sweat stains and rips and tears were somehow gone— _Magically_, he thought with distaste—but he knew the cloth was his when he felt it. Looking around to make sure he was alone, James crouched down behind the oversized squash and changed. That done, he slid down to a sitting position, back against a pumpkin, to ponder his predicament. One of the few clouds in the bright blue sky, white and fluffy, uncovered the sun, and a glare was cast into his eyes from somewhere nearby. _What's that?_ He shielded his face from the sun's reflection with a raised arm, and saw it. _My sword! _He rose and claimed it from the dry and dusty ground. The belt and holster were folded neatly beneath it, and he strapped it on. Ah, how good it felt to have that familiar weight at his hip again—he had felt so naked without it.

Back in the proper attire—if only some of it, for his stockings, shoes, hat, waistcoat, Navy coat, baldric, and anything else that wasn't shirt and trousers were still unaccounted for—he decided to explore a little. Perhaps back to the woods, ad find a place where he could have time to himself. But then…what of that creature what bit him? Yet, he woods looked inviting enough—at least this part—and so he resolved to step into the trees and learn the lay of the land, and return before he was missed.

The trees soon closed around him, but not so thickly that they blocked out the sun. it was actually pretty peaceful. So peaceful, he noticed as he ventured deeper into the woods, that no birds sang. There was no sound of life or anything. There was no whisper of wind between the branches, no general buzz of life. Just silence, but for the crunch of his own feet on the fallen leaves, which seemed to echo all around. All was still. It would have been nice if it had not been so disconcerting. There was a sudden rustle behind him. He whirled around, but saw nothing. The sound was followed by many loud footfalls. James drew his sword warily, prepared to attack as the footsteps drew closer…

* * *

All righty then, you have another seven page chapter (oh don't look so disappointed—seven is a lot from me!). Don't expect an update too soon. But I promise I will be more prompt (or will try my very best to) with a next chapter. (Cheap Russian accent) Please to be leaving reviews on way out! 'Sank you! 


	8. Of Fears Known Part III

Omg! Did I just update this? I did, didn't I!

Oki, a few notes before I let you get back to the story: About the whole James-knows-Dumbledore's-middle-name-Wulfric-thing. James was originally going to be a were-fox, but since I had absolutely no idea how a fox acted, I decided it wouldn't work out. (I would have ended up making him act more like a cat—and I already have some other story where he's a cat, so it really doesn't work...) So anywaffles, the idea was that the name Wulfric was kind of instinctually know by any were-canine-thing. Since canine is not related to weasel, kindly forget that detail.

Also, I know some HP sources say that unicorns do not begin to grow their horns until they are about two years old, but I'm standing by _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_, which says absolutely nothing about this and allows for more individual imagination. Thank you.

Thanks to: Little Miss Sparrow, Mer, Atticus620, Winka, HecateTriformis, RespectTheSporks, Destiny, ArmoredSoul, Katherine-The-Crowned, Jess (even though you've given up on me), and Captain-Jana-Sparrow, all my faithful readers/reviewers.

**Chapter Seven**

Closer and closer the footsteps came, and James drew back his sword in preparation to swing. At last, a golden shape hurtled out from the bushes, into the clearing, and ran straight into him, knocking him off his feet. He sat up, grabbing blindly for his sword, and looked to see it had been thrown out of reach. _Stupid! Why didn't I swing when I had the chance?_ he thought despairingly. A shadow fell over him, and he looked up to see... "Oh—it's you," he sighed with relief as the little unicorn colt gazed down at him curiously. "Ought you to be out, little one? ...And _why_ am I asking you? ...Well, I suppose it is a step up from talking to _trees_, at least..."

The little creature nickered thoughtfully, blinking his liquid, sapphire eyes. He lowered his head to sniff at the man, and James' breath hitched in his throat. He reached up very slowly, very cautiously with his hand. The creature watched it warily, oversized ears pricked. The man froze, and the two stared at each other for what seemed like an age. At last, norrington acted, reaching out to pet the colt. No sooner had he touched the beast than it bolted. He immediately reprimanded himself. Here was an animal that, even after days or maybe weeks, still did not trust its caretaker, and here he was thinking he had gained its trust after less that an hour. And now he'd scared it away. Probably never to be seen again.

Contrarily, it stopped after a few strides to look startledly back at him over its shoulder. He smiled faintly. "I suppose that merits an apology. I am sorry," he told it with a self-pitying smile. They stared at one another for a good while longer, before Norrington finally stood up, shaking all the leaves from himself like a dog. _All right_, he mentally commented, _a little more animal in me than I should be comfortable with..._ He twisted around to look into the forest. What was in there? He turned back to the unicorn. "Well, if you're not coming with me, you should go back to the hut. Not leaving? Then stay close." He proceeded to explore deeper into the wood, not looking back to make sure the fool was there, only the crunch of leaves behind him to let him know. They traveled through the dappled light, stepping over the fallen leaves of all shades of brown, gold, orange, and red.

Thankfully, wherever they wandered, the forest did not grow dark the way it had been on the day that he had woken up there. That being said, he deemed they were safe to explore. In one instance, a stag stood in their path off in the distance. It raised its head to look at them, its silhouette showing off the massive and noble rack of antlers crowning its elegant head. It watched them for some moments before moving off the path and disappearing into the trees. It had been the first sign of life they had encountered, and it seemed that, in seeing it, James suddenly became aware of the chirruping of birds, and he looked up to see them flitting from branch to branch. They were odd, exotic, colourful birds, the likes of which he had never seen before. It was as though he had crossed some lone of enchantment that prevented foreigners from seeing anything.

Now, as they climbed over the huge roots of a tree, the man suddenly gasped and hid himself in a hollow under said tree. In the clearing before him was a herd of skeletal beasts. They were black as pitch, with blank, white shining eyes and dragon-like faces. There were great leathery bat wings growing from their shoulder-bones. They seemed to be some sort of demonic, skeletal winged-horses. Probably ate men and drank blood. _Oh no_, he suddenly realized, _the foal!_ The golden creature looked around the tree that the man had disappeared behind, and upon seeing the thestrals, nickered joyfully and pranced into the clearing. "Wait—don't!" But it was too late. The little unicorn had already danced into their midst. Well, you can imagine that a high-ranking and noble former-commodore was not going to sit idly by while such a creature of wonder was about to be devoured by demonic pegasii. He silently drew his sword in his hollow, coiling up to spring into action as the evil-looking creatures bent down toward it. He exploded from under the tree, about to strike when an observation stayed his hand. These monsters were greeting the young unicorn with nickers and affectionate nuzzling. They were welcoming him! Norrington heaved a sigh of relief—and frustration—as he sheathed his rapier. Would the surprises never cease? Ah well. If the unicorn trusted them, then he surmised that he could trust them as well. He cautiously stepped forward. The macabre creatures looked at him curiously, and he perceived a nightmarish beauty about them, and a little baby one pranced toward him to sniff at him. With its acceptance, the whole herd surged forward to him, and before he knew it, he was in their midst. He was nudged and sniffed and butted and bumped by the scary-but-really-not-scary creatures. After a time, he allowed himself a small smile, and discovered the animals for a good time afterward.

However, he surmised that if he stayed any longer, he would be missed. He called out to the golden colt, hoping it would follow him, and wove through the herd to head back toward the hut. However, after a few minutes' backtracking, he came to realize that he did not recognize where he was. He turned to backtrack his backtracking and find the clearing and regain his bearings, and saw the foal following some distance behind him. "Don't stray too far, now. We're lost enough as it is." Although, without a goal, nor any real enthusiasm to find the way back, they wandered aimlessly through the wood. Whenever they came into view of an area black with shadows, they turned back round and went the other way. Whenever it looked as though they were nearing the forest's edge, they would hasten forward until they broke into the sunlight, only to discover that they had merely stumbled into some clearing or other, still deep amid the trees.

By now, James was beginning to become concerned. His sense of direction was normally very reliable—so why did nothing look familiar? All of a sudden, he noticed movement out the corner of his eye, but when he turned to look, he didn't see anyone, nor anything but trees. _I have a mind to wonder if, perhaps, the trees themselves are moving,_ he thought without surprise, sitting at the base of one to rest and think. The bite on his arm was itching furiously, and he dearly hoped that it meant that it was healing quickly. The injury was bothersome, but he dared not scratch at it, nor unbandage it to see its progress for himself for fear of upsetting it.

At last, the sound of voices talking to one another reached them, and he turned to see three familiar forms walking through the trees. He crept toward them, suddenly finding himself at the edge of the wood. Hiding himself behind a tree, he watched for the voices' owners. Recognition jolted through him when they came into sight. They were the three students who had first found him. And that girl who had tried so hard to keep him out of harm's way. He began forward to thank her when he realized that she would have absolutely no idea what he was talking about. Well, he had already betrayed his position by starting, so he may as well say something. "You three," he called, interrupting their chatter as he strode toward them. "Might I enquire as to where you are going?"

"I'm sorry, I don't think we've met you before," the boy with black hair and an abnormal scar said with suspicion.

"Nor I you, and why should anyone expect otherwise? I am a little new here, you see, I've come to help Professor Hagrid care for the animals and such," he told them truthfully.

"Oh—we're just going to visit Hagrid now, the girl—his young heroine—said with some excitement, gesturing toward the hut which, James saw with regret, was not far off. He had been near it the entire time. "I'm Hermione Granger."

"I'm Harry Potter, and this is Ron Weasely," the black-haired one introduced himself with a gesture toward his redheaded cohort.

"Well, Mr. Weasely, you have been rather quiet."

"Ron, stop staring," Hermione hissed.

The student looked away awkwardly. "S-sorry. You just look really familiar for some reason and I was trying to figure out why," he defended himself quickly.

"Calm yourself, Mr. Weasely. I do not mind," James replied with guarded amusement. The children smiled.

"I'm sorry," the lass said slowly, "but I don't think you gave us your name, Mr..."

"Norrington—James. Norrington. Pleasure to make your acquaintances," he replied with a bow. "Might we accompany you to Hagrid's? It is about time that we return, as it were."

"We?" Harry enquired confusedly. "Who else is with you?"

With a small smile, the commodore looked over his shoulder. The three followed his gaze and saw the colt a few meters into the forest. Hermione gasped in excitement and rushed forward, but James caught her gently by the shoulder. "Pardon me, Miss Granger, but I would caution against sudden movements. He is very shy and rather distrusting. Even Hagrid has not gained his confidence."

"Then how is he going to get back?"

"He has been following me all morning. I think is it safe to presume that he will continue to do so. Milady," he offered his arm. She laughed—perhaps she giggles—at his level of formality, and walked with him (And of course the reader might imagine that Mr. Weasely was quite jealous.) "Miss Granger, are you at all fond of ferrets?"

"I adore them," she admitted quietly.

"Yes, she found one yesterday, actually, and was trying to find its owner," Harry added.

"But Malfoy got to it. It's probably dead by now."

A jolt went through James at the realization of how closely he had evaded death, which he forced under his shell, instead patting her hand gently. "Well you tried, did you not, my dear? and that is what matters." There, he had thanked her—even if she didn't know it. "I am sure it is fine wherever it is."

"Why're you asking anyway?" Ron asked bluntly.

"I have been seeing them roaming rampant in some parts of the wood—I suppose Mr. Hagrid must use them as a source of food for the hippogriffs—and I at random suddenly wondered who might be interested."

"Don't mind him," Hermione reassured the older man. "He doesn't seem to like treating strangers courteously." She glared a warning over her shoulder at the redhead.

"Once again, Miss Granger, I do not mind."

They walked on in silence. Harry checked over his shoulder to make sure that the unicorn was still following, and said, "He doesn't seem to have a horn, does he?"

"Strange, is it not? And yet nothing seems to be wrong with him. There does not seem to be any way to determine why his horn is absent." Silence fell once morn.

Ron leaned in to Harry and whispered, "I don't trust him."

Harry scoffed. "He's fine, Ron. You're jumping to conclusions already, aren't you? You don't even know him."

"Neither do you! Something's not right about him. I don't like him."

"Don't you, Mr. Weasely?" Hermione looked at her escort with surprise, not having heard the conversation. Perhaps James' senses were enhanced somewhat by the beast. He turned around and smiled at the offender. "Maybe that might change once we know one another better." It was terribly strange to be acting to charming and enigmatic... How did Sparrow do it all the time? Either way, the redhead looked miffed as he turned and casually continued walking. In a matter of a few minutes, they had arrived at Hargid's hut. "I am afraid that this is where we must part ways. It has been a pleasure meeting you three, and I hope our paths might cross again soon. Have a pleasant visit." And with a bow, he continued around back, where he could no longer hear their conversation, the unicorn uncertainly following.

Hermione whirled around to glare at Ron."What did you say?!" she hissed.

"I don't like him."

"Why not? He's such a nice man."

"I don't think he can be trusted."

She exclaimed in anger. "What are you talking about? He's a great person."

"We don't really know him, Hermione," Harry put in reasonably. She gave him a withering look.

"Look at it, Hermione—some strange man with a unicorn that hasn't got any horn suddenly pops up out of the woods and starts talking to us about ferrets?"

"Stop it, you're being absurd."

"_Hermione,_" Ron said at last, "he had a _sword._"

James opened the back door, which creaked something terrible, and stood standing in the doorway, out of sight. Dumbledore was just saying his goodbyes, but then with a twinkle of his eyes he added, "Our guest seems to have returned," looking toward the man still hidden from view. Norrington chuckled softly and stepped into sight.

"How _do_ you do that?"

"Practice, patience, and a goof ear for an un-oiled door. Goodbye." He opened the door to meet Hermione, her fist raised to knock on the door. "My goodness," he said, "People." And with that, he strode off."

"So long, Professor," Hermione called respectfully, turning back around to greet Hargid. Who she saw was Mr. Norrington again. "See, Ron, he wasn't lying."

This brought the commodore some amusement. "You thought me dishonest, Mr. Weasely?" he asked with a smile.

"Er...sorry," he apologized grudgingly. James only laughed.

"Mister James," Hagrid cut in, "th' other foal went missing. You wouldn't happen ter know whereabouts it got to, would ye?" The stranger pointed silently toward the open door, where the golden colt was warily peering in. "By Dumbledore's whiskers—did 'e follow ye th' whole way?"

"Aye. Never got close to me, though. Followed at a great distance."

"Still doesn't trust us much, then."

"I suppose not. Well, I shan't impede upon your visit any longer. I'll be by the Loch, if you need me." There was his Scottish background...

"Yer invited ter stay, y'know."

He paused at the doorway and looked back with a hollow smile. "I do not think I am welcome." And before anyone could object, he was gone. He sat by the lakeshore, the wavelets lapping at his toes, looking at his reflection. He felt he barely recognized the face staring back at him. His hair, where it was usually kept under a powdered wig, was revealed for the world to see, tousled and unruly. He was in need of a shave, stubble and whiskers making themselves known, littering his chin. It almost made him look younger. Perhaps it made him look older. Haggard and unkempt, maybe. Or maybe not that bad at all. The deep tracks running from his eyes seemed deeper than ever in the dim light; clouds had covered the sky, where it had been bright and clear earlier. It would rain soon, he guessed. His gaze drifted to his bandaged arm, and memories of the 'Crucio' attack burned in his mind. It did not make him a monster, he realized. He was already monster enough after his crew... He spent a good while grieving and, as predicted, it began to rain. He didn't mind it. It added to his horrible mood which he, as a man, needed to wallow in until he had squeezed out every drop of self pity as could be found. He did not startle when the unicorn lay down beside him, so close that he could have reached out and touched it. "What am I?" he asked it in a sullen softness. The two sat together, staring out over the lake.

After a while, the cold became bothersome and the two headed back to the hut. James crept sullenly through the back door, the colt following curiously, and paused when he encountered the three students and Hagrid sitting around the table. Four heads looked his way as he stood there, dumb and emotionless, sopping wet and a puddle beneath him, hair plastered to his forehead. They stared at each other for a moment before he continued into the next room, closing the door behind him and the colt, and sitting at the window to stare out and swim in his melancholy.

"What's his problem?" Ron asked bluntly.

"What's yours?" Harry retorted.

"He looked awfully unhappy. I don't think I've ever seen a sadder face," Hermione commented softly. "It made me sad just to see him."

"He went through a tragedy recently, and is still working t'wards recovering," Hagrid supplied in explanation.

"He seems like a completely different person now," Harry mused, looking thoughtfully at the closed door. "He seemed so cheerful when we met him on our way here."

"Well, no use sticking our noses in business not ours," Rubeus resolved. And so, their talk shifted to other subjects.

Meanwhile, James remained at the window, staring lonesomely out, listening to the comforting murmur that permeated the door. The little unicorn, after watching him for several minutes, approached and rested its head in his lap. He absently stroked its face. "You understand me, don't you?" he asked it softly, looking down to meet its sapphire gaze. "Gone through a recent loss, arrived in a place so horrible, so bizarre, where nothing is normal and nothing can be trusted, only to find out that _you_ are the one who is bizarre." It shook its head and squealed playfully. The man smiled hollowly, stroking its forehead where the horn was supposed to be. "That does not seem to bother you, though, does it? Look at you—carrying on no matter. I suppose I might learn from you."

It seemed a day that mirrored one's mood—and as such, the sun broke through the dark grey sea of clouds in accordance with the lightness of heart that had settled over him. The clouds began to lighten and break apart, revealing patches of blue skies.

The moon, newly risen during the day, was uncovered on the horizon. _And it was still full from the previous night._ A jolt went through James and he started, upsetting the poor unicorn colt, who bolted for the door, braying in panic for a way out as the man collapsed and began to convulse, shrinking and reshaping.

Hagrid, where he had been farewell-ing the guests, lumbered hastily for the door, pulling it open to find the golden foal fearfully facing a lump that was twisting and thrashing underneath a set of empty clothing. "Mister Norrington, sir!" he exclaimed in flusterment, rushing to uncover the ferret. "Yer a ferret again."

_Yes, I can see that._

"What happened?"

The weasel clambered up the curtains back to the windowsill and looked pointedly at Selene. _I'm not sure. Perhaps you should ask the moon,_ he thought with sarcasm.

Hagrid, sensibly following his gaze, gaped wide-eyed at the celestial body. "All right', come on. We've got ter get yer t' Dumbledore straight away." Not needing to be told twice, James leapt into the man's great hand, climbing up his sleeve to perch on his shoulder.

_How do those parrots do it? This is harder than it looks! _he thought helplessly, clinging desperately to the man's shoulder as the hastened (quite bumpily, James would pain me to add) up the path toward the castle.

They bumped past Harry, Ron and Hermione. "Where's the fire, Hagrid?" Potter asked.

"Got to speak ter Dumbledore—now!" And before they could reply, he continued on.

They hurried through the castle, winding up the moving stairwells, down the halls, disturbing a class or two whose doors were open and whose students were easily distracted. At last they reached a stone gargoyle. "Fizzing Whizbees," Hagrid sputtered. The statue moved aside to reveal a spiraling staircase which led up, up, up, to the top of the tower. They stopped at a great oaken door with a brass griffin-shaped knocker, where Hagrid paused to calm and catch his breath before he rapped the knocker with echoing booms. A moment or so later, the door opened before them, seemingly of its own accord, and they stepped inside (well rather it was Hagrid who was doing the stepping, but you get the idea...) Dumbledore was nowhere to be seen, but Hagrid was not fooled.

After a minute or so of waiting after having called out a greeting, the elderly wizard's voice said, "I shall be with you in a few moments, Hagrid. Please help yourself to some tea."

Hagrid obeyed, seating himself, and James climbed down to sit on the table, taking the opportunity to observe the room. It was a large and beautiful circular room, full of funny little noises. A number of curious silver instruments stood on spindle-legged tables, whirring and emitting little puffs of smoke. The walls were covered with portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, all of whom appeared to have been painted while the subjects were asleep. There was also an enormous, claw-footed desk, and, sitting on a shelf behind it, a shabby, tattered wizard's hat. A magnificent bird sat on its perch not far off, its plumage all gold and scarlet, like the flames in a fire. It stared at the ferret with a hungry glint in its eye, and he squeaked in apprehension. _I do not like the way your bird is looking at me..._

At last, Dumbledore descended the steps from the upper level of his office and greeted the men. "Ah, back so soon, Hagrid? I was not expecting to see you until supper. What can I help you with?"

"Well ye see, sir, it's Mr. James. He's gone furry again, look!" And he swiped up the ferret by the scruff. James squeaked in protest but was not released; he was instead dangled for Dumbledore to scrutinize.

The old headmaster leaned forward to study the little creature, gaze burning into his own. "His eyes are still green—if only so dark that they appear black. The man must be incredibly resistant to the ferret-lycanthropy to retain any qualities he has as a human. This is how he is able to remain conscious of his actions when he changes."

"Yessir, but why's he changed _now_? Didn't 'e jes' do it las' night?"

"Yes, Hagrid, but the smaller the animal is, the more sensitive it is to the moon. If the full moon comes out during the day, even the sun might not drown out its power."

"But th' moon was full _las'_ night, wasn't it?"

"According to the predictions, the date of the full moon is today's. last night, the moon only _seemed_ full. And because a ferret is so sensitive, he was still forced to change. He should be susceptible to the moon's pull for at least the days preceding and following the full moon. In fact, if the timing is correct, he may remain a ferret for three days straight."

"But surely the moon would set in that time, sir?"

"Yes, but what of the stars, Hagrid?"

"Th' stars, sir?"

"It is true that the moon instigated the change, but it is not until the stars have set afterward that a wereling can change back. Why do you suppose that werewolves, the least sensitive to celestial powers, remain wolves until dawn, even if the moon sets before then? The stars have as much to do with a wereling's change as the moon."

"Oh," Hagrid sighed. "I should've known that, I bein' th' profess'r on magical critters an' such."

"Do not concern yourself with knowledge of werelings, Rubeus. They fall under the subject of the Dark Arts, you will recall."

"Yessir."

_The Dark Arts? No why don't I like the sound of that? ... ...Maybe it's because I'm being dangled like bait for a fish!_ he thought with an angry squeak, trying to twist out of the grip on his scruff.

"Beggin' yer pardon, Mister Norrington," Hagrid said hastily, setting the ferret back on the table.

"You had better make yourself comfortable in this new body, Mr. Norrington," Dumbledore advised him. "The day is not half gone, and you have at the very least until dawn tomorrow until you return to the form with which you are no doubt better acquainted. Try to stay out of sight—you won't be mistaken for a missing pet that way and possibly have to relive your Crucio incident." The ferret flinched. "Now, how would you like some tea?"

_Very much, thank you,_ James squeaked, nodding eagerly.

"Any sugar?" A nod yes. "How many lumps?" A tiny paw struck the table twice. Two sugar cubes were added and mixed, and from the mix was a saucer filled and offered. James looked up at the wize old wizard, wishing he could find a way to thank him. Of his minimal sign language, he made the sign as best he could in his ferret body, fearing that the message was not communicated. "You are quite welcome, Master Norrington." With visible relief, the ferret began to lap up the tea.

It suddenly hit him that he was socializing like a chum with two wizards. Two magical folk. _Probably laced with some sort of sleeping potion or poison or some other magical slime,_ he thought scathingly as he continued to lap contrarily at the beverage. Even while his human half protested, his animal half was completely at ease.

At length, the visit was ended, and the half-giant and wereling traversed back to the hut. "Stay away from th' hippogriffs, now," Hagrid warned him good-naturedly. "Ferrets're prime feastin' fer a hippogriff, and we don't want you endin' up on their menu." He was set down on the table once inside. "Ye've had a trying day, Mr. Norrington, and ye should probably rest some. I won't keep ya locked up, so don't worry about that, so try and keep yerself outta trouble, y'hear?" The weasel nodded. "Good. Now rest up—when ye change back termorrow, I'll be teachin' ya how ter care fer th' knarls I've got in store for the third-years. Now, I got ter prepare for a class soon, so I s'pose I'll see yer at lunch. S'long." And with new cheer the gargantuan man turned and strode back outside.

As the door slammed softly shut behind him, James turned and hopped from the table onto a stool, then to the floor tow find a comfortable spot by the fire to curl up and warm his fur, and perhaps clean the tea from his paws and whiskers. He did not expect to meet a enormous boarhound (great dane, to those of us American)—made even more enormous in comparison to the tiny weasel—upon reaching the ground, staring down at him with an intense, perhaps predatory gaze. It licked its chops. _Oh...m-my...goodness...

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Oki? It's nine and a half pages long, and I wrote it in a little twoXtwo notebook, doubling up on every line and writing in like size six font. Sorry for the wait, and I hope that the next chapter is not so far off.

Description of Dumbledore's office taken from the _Chamber of Secrets_.

Hope you enjoyed. Leave a review on your way out!


	9. Chapter 8

Oki, so today's the day of the full moon. James is a ferret, and I am an updater. We'll try full-moon updates for a few chapters and see how that goes.

Thank you for the wonderful reviews!

**ArmoredSoul**: I completely agree. That's why he is what he is in my other story. I figured it was too much to have him be a lion (ish) in more than one story, so...yeah.

**Little Miss Sparrow:** I expect there must be another room where Hagrid sleeps. I mean...you never see a bed in the main room, you know? Two room hut. Sounds reasonable. Boarhounds!

**Disclaimer:** **Authoress: **I own all  
**Disney:** No you don't. We do.  
**Authoress:** Well you smell funny.

**Chapter Eight**

With an alarmed squeak, Norrington fled. The boarhound barked, great and rumbling, and gave chase. The ferret's tiny paws flew over the ground as he darted under chairs and between the prongs of a pitchfork, into nooks and crannies—behind cauldrons, under any furniture he could find. This proved fruitless, however, for the massive canine only bowled everything over and out of the way. James scurried past the unicorns—who were cowering against the wall, watching with wide eyes—and into the bedroom, where he managed to clamber up on top of the bed to swat at the hound's huge nose with his tiny thornpricks of claws. _Bad dog! Bad dog! Down!_

Well, a reader can imagine that the commotion was audible to the outside—the quaking barks of the dog, the clattering and smashing as furniture and utensils were knocked over. Hagrid, who had not gone far before the sounds had reached him, swung open the door and stormed inside. The first thing he met was James, leaping at him for safety. He landed safe in Hagrid's hands and turned back to snarl at the dog.

Upon meeting the set of sharp teeth in the face of so adorable a plaything, Fang yelped and fled, tail between his legs.

"Bad boy, Fang!" Hagrid scolded him. "We do _not_ eat our guests, d'you hear?" Poor confused Fang just lowered his head and whined. "Terribly sorry about that, Mister James. I knew I was fergettin' an introduction somewheres."

The ferret glared up at him before climbing into his coat pocket and peering out at the Great Dane. "I s'pose yer stayin' with me then."

_You would suppose correctly,_ Norrington sighed, looking up at him.

"That's all right, though. If yer awake, ye can see what it's like in one o' my classes. Come on now."

_This ought to be interesting,_ the were-ferret thought resignedly as they went outside. _I am a ferret now, I am not in my own world, I __**should**__ be dead, and I am now about to attend a class for witchcraft. Another normal day..._

They arrived in a small clearing, where a long table set up, with several stations lined up along it. Around said stations scuttled what looked like hedgehogs. "Those're the knarls I was gonna teach yer t' take care of," Hagrid told his pocket. "It's goin' ter be a project fer the second years fer th' next few weeks, an' so we'll have to make sure they're well cared for. Otherwise the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures 'll be after us for cruelty and mistreatment to animals, and th' class'd be put to an end."

_They have laws about treatment of animals?_ This was utterly foreign to the ferret.

After several minutes' waiting, the conversations of twelve-year-olds preceded the arrival of the class. The young witches and wizards moved into the clearing, and their conversations grew excited and turned to the subject of what were on the table. "G'dafternoon, class," Hagrid rumbled. There were a few mumbled replies. "Have I got an assignment for you! Fer th' next week'r so, you'll all be learnin' how to take care of knarls an' collect their spines fer Potions class. Won't that be fun?"

_These hedgehogs, they don't eat fancy ferret by any chance, do they?_ James wondered as his pocket swung close to one of the creatures.

However, it seemed like the young students shared their Professor's enthusiasm, and went right to work, diligently following his instructions. But, when things go swimmingly, there is always an instance that will change that. And such an instance occurred now. Knarls are very similar to hedgehogs except in one way: If food is left out for one, it assumed that the offender is trying to lure it into a trap, and will proceed to savage the person's belongings. Well, one of the students had neglected the cleanup of his workspace, leaving bits of food lying on the table. A knarl took offense at this, and proceeded to grip the student's momentarily unattended pack in its teeth and hurl it into a tree, where it hung perilously from a thin, wispy branch, too high to climb up to, and too weak to support the weight of any person.

James squealed in protest as he was pulled out of the pocket—he had begun to doze—and looked around in confusion as he blinked blearily in the sunlight. "All right, now, Messer Norrington, there's a bag up there's got a fragile cauldron and somesuch. Yer the only one light enough t' get up there, and all we need is fer ye ter knock it off'n th' branch fer one of us ter catch, all right?" As he said this, he was placing the ferret on a branch.

_Are you mad?! I've no idea how to climb in this body. ...Hmmm, well. I suppose now is the time to learn._ And with that, he began to scale the branches. From time to time, he slipped or misjudged his movements, and his audience gasped dramatically as they stared up at him, but his claws always dug into the wood, and he was able to haul himself to safety. After a minute or so, he reached the correct branch. Already sagging dangerously under the weight of the bag, the branch drooped and trembled as he cautiously sidled farther out. There, just a few more inches now... Too steep! He suddenly slipped down the curving branch and landed atop the bag. He trembled a moment, trying to regain his composure—for a ferret had a much weaker constitution than a commodore—and climbed back onto the branch. Pushing with all his ferrety might, he managed to shove the strap off. The bag fell, to be caught by Hagrid, and the strain on the branch was gone, which meant—_Uh-oh..._ The branch snapped up, and the wereling was sent flying. _Whoa!_

"_Wingardium Leviosa!_" a student cried with a wave of her wand, and the weasel's descent stopped, leaving him floating in mid air.

_And you couldn't have done that to get the blasted thing in the first place?_ James grumbled as he floated to land safely on a table.

"Good thinkin', Alice," said Hagrid. "Well done! All right, we've had enough excitement for one day. Now ye'll make sure ter clean up after yerselves. See yer nex' time." The class ended, and the students dispersed, chattering excitedly.

_Is class always this exciting?_

"Thanks, Mr. James," said Hagrid, offering his pocket once more. "Off t' lunch, and then another class. Ye can leave any time yer want, y'know."

_And face your adorable puppy again?_ James thought cynically. _I think not._

And so, he spent the day observing the classes as they came and went, and after that, dinner. Sitting by Hagrid's goblet, mostly out of sight of the students, he looked out at the masses and was amazed at how many there were. From up here, he could see that they were divided to sit at four long tables. He spotted the three Griffindors—Hermione and her friends—chatting and having a generally good time. Until a familiar blonde at the next table made some snide comment that seemed to hurt the lass and set the boys on reprimanding him and comforting her.

"It's all right, Hermione," Harry murmured to he down at their table. "Remember what Mr. Norrington said—he's probably fine."

"Yeah, don't listen to Malfoy," Ron put in. "He's just trying to get to you. He probably let him go right after he took him—he's prob'ly too afraid of ferrets to keep one too long, ever since that incident with Moody." This got a small smile out of her.

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It seemed a very short time before he was human two mornings later, as opposed to the eternity he had been expecting. Luckily, he had been under a blanket, dozing in front of the fire when it happened, and therefore was not exposed. He sat up, wobbling a little on two legs, clutching the blanket around him and looking out the window at the sunrise. He sighed, pensive, and after several minutes lost in thought, went to find his clothes.

After that, he began to prepare breakfast, figuring it was the least he could do after being a useless invalid for three days. "Mmm, sum'm smells awful good," Hagrid said cheerily as he entered the room. "Yer human again, I see."

"So I am. How do you like your eggs?"

And so, in the weeks following, James learned how to care for all of the animals under Hagrid's care. Once or twice, he made an appearance at a class—usually to show the first years their first unicorns, which were little Marlie and her brother. He had thoughtfully named the colt Chrystafi, meaning 'golden' in Latin, and the little critter followed him as a duckling follows its mother.

The days began to pass more quickly and more enjoyably, so much so that he neglected in counting the days as they passed.

A month after his arrival, Hagrid had led all of his fourth-year class out to the lakeside. "We got somethin' in store for ya today! These creatures are hard to find for humans, but merpeople have domesticated them for centuries. Powerful intelligent critters. Anyone'd venture ter try an' guess?"

Hermione's hand shot up. "It sounds like a Grindylow."

"That's a good guess. Merpeople have been domesticatin' Grindylows for ages. However, what I'm showin' ye terday is not a Grindylow. It's _much_ more interestin.'" Harry and Ron exchanged concerned expressions, knowing Hagrid's tendencies for equating interesting with dangerous, as Hagrid blew into a special whistle. The class looked out over the lake, and a large object of an amazing velocity rose beneath the surface, surging toward them. Before long, the form of a man—James—rose out of the water. The class gasped. But it was not him that was amazing, no, but rather what he was riding: a hippocampus, or merhorse. It was a huge strawberry-roan mare, and it propelled itself toward the students with amazing speed and grace. When they thought it would fly right out of the water at them, scrambling out of the way to avoid it, it contrarily dove down out of sight. The water grew still for a few moments before they exploded out of the water, arching in a graceful flip, and then calmly swimming to shore. James dismounted, sopping wet, clothes clinging to him, slightly breathless, and gave the mare a well-deserved pat on the neck.

"Ev'ryone, this is James Norrington. 'E's come ter help me out with th' critters fer a while." The man bowed formally, and Hagrid went on to introduce the 'critter.' "And this, everyone, is Strawberry. She belongs ter th' merpeople, an' they've graciously allowed us t' borrow her fer t'day."

As Hagrid gave his lesson, James stood by the hippocamp and held her lead, occasionally sloshing water over her gills to keep them from drying out. Here, he had the chance to observe the students. His heart skipped a beat when he suddenly caught sight of a familiar blonde, who had been staring at him, stunned and with mouth agape, ever since he had come ashore. Anger boiling inside of him, he returned the stare with his coldest commodore glare, and for the first time, he was filled with a lust for revenge. Well, this hunger for payback must have permeated his glare, for the Slytherin's eyes widened and he hastily looked away. James turned back to the lesson, completely unmoved.

At last, at the end of the hour, the class ended, and the tine came for questions. Several passed, before Hermione's hand shot up. However, her question was directed at another. "Mister Norrington," his head snapped up, "how did you learn to ride her? Is it difficult?" Some of the students around her made noises of agreement.

He considered his words a moment, running his tongue over his teeth. "It is actually much like riding a horse—that which I have much experience with. The most difficult thing about it, I suppose, is keeping one's breath under water when moving at a higher velocity." He paused thoughtfully and added, "That, and getting the sea weed out of one's teeth after the matter. I fear I shall be up all night trying to remove it." Many students laughed.

"I'll make sure ter get summore floss," Hagrid assured him. "Tha's enough for t'day, class. See yer nex' time."

Chattering excitedly, the students gathered their things and left. Malfoy chanced a final glance over his shoulder, and found himself fixed in the disconcerting glare of the were-ferret. He met the murderous gaze and, unable to hold it, immediately turned away and hastened to leave, all the while feeling the predatory stare following his retreat.

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Later that day, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had come by for a visit. James was making his mother's famous scones for them, little Chrystafi always by his side. The man turned his head sharply when the cheerful conversation turned to complaints over the behaviour of a student. Hermione was beginning to get very worked up by his actions and comments. James became suspicious. The boy's name sounded vaguely familiar, and he began to think that perhaps that name fit with the face he was imagining. "This Malfoy chap," he began tentatively, setting a tray of scones on the table—which Harry and Ron greatly and immediately appreciated. "He is blonde?"

"Yes..."

"About your age? Lives in a dungeon?"

"Yes."

"Why do yeh want ter know, Mess'r Norrington?"

"I was searching for a name to match a face," he replied, before adding in tones only Hagrid could hear, "He is the one who cast the Cruciatus curse when I first changed."

Hagrid turned his back to the children so that they would not see his shocked expression (he was not particularly gifted in the art of training his face.) "I'll be sure ter let Dumbledore know." Norrington nodded his thanks and they returned to their cheerful visit.

Eventually, it came time for the students to leave. James bid them farewell, and after the door had closed behind them, went out back to find out where Chrystafi and Marlie had gotten to. All of a sudden, a familiar pain shot through his limbs. He gasped in surprise; he hadn't known that today was the day! Before he ever had a chance to call for Hagrid, he had shrunken and transformed. He climbed out of his clothes and looked ruefully up at the afternoon sky's full moon.

Chrystafi, where he had been out front, being fawned over by Hermione, sensed that something was happening and suddenly whisked away to find his surrogate parent. Hermione, wondering what had made the little foal leave so spontaneously, followed after him, the boys tagging along behind. "It's you!" she gasped, catching sight of the ferret and scooping him up. "Look, it's the ferret Malfoy stole. It's okay!"

"Hermione, that could be any ferret," Harry told her.

"It's him. I know it. Look at the way he looks at you—it's like he understands everything we're saying."

"Oh come on, Hermione, ferrets can't understand you."

_You've no idea_, James thought, struggling a little in the girl's grasp.

"If I called him a flea-bitten rat, he wouldn't know the difference," Ron went on. Irritated, James leapt at him, landing squarely on his chest. In surprise and fright, the redhead fell back, as though he had been tackled.

Hermione picked him up again, before he could get away, and glared at Ron as he got up. Harry, behind her, was finding the whole scene very funny. "You were saying, Ron?"

Weasely straightened his shirt, indignantly retorting, "So he's obviously heard that one before. What real proof could you have that he's the same one?"

"If you look closely, his eyes are green. Just like the other one's. how many ferrets can there be with green eyes?"

"Well now you know he's safe. Put him down and let's get out of here and get ready for Potions before Snape gives us detention."

_Yes, yes, put the ferret down. That seems a wonderful idea,_ James silently urged her.

"Well we can't just leave him here."

"Hermione," Harry began.

"Not with the hippogriffs. I'm going to keep him."

"Are you crazy? You saw how he attacked me!"

"You had it coming and you know it. Just be happy he didn't bite you."

"Besides," Potter cut in with a more sensible argument, "you don't know anything about taking care of ferrets."

"I can borrow some books on it then."

"You can't win, Ron," Harry conceded with a chuckle.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Can we go now?"

"Yeah, we're gonna be late; we've got to hurry."

"All right," Hermione agreed. "Let's get out of here." And so, they hurried up the path, carrying the were-ferret away from his only hopes of keeping his secret a secret.

Chrystafi squealed, desperately yanking at Hagrid's sleeve for him to follow. "What is it, li'l guy?" The gargantuan man was led to the pile of empty clothed, at which he exclaimed, "Mr. Norrington! Where'd 'e go, li'l guy?" The golden foal pointed his nose toward the castle, where they could just make out the forms of the three students approaching the great oak doors. A terrible liar, Hagrid could not just go up and ask to have the ferret back, not without inadvertently giving away some detail that would give James away. He had to tell Dumbledore instead. As he hurried to find the headmaster, he could only hope that they could get James out of there before he turned into a man again.

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All right, and there is your chapter. I've got a purdy good idea as to what it's going to be about, but I have not yet begun to write it. Ah well, I have another moon to work on it. 

Please Review!


	10. Chapter 9

All right, all right, so technically, last night was the full moon. However, number one: it was a full eclipse (which I didn't know about so I never got to see it! D:), so no moon was actually out (if you stretch things a little whole lot...). Eheh. And B, since it's the night after, dear James is still susceptible to change. Weee.

Thanks to everyone for all the sweet reviews! Hugs to all! (now if only I could get as many reviews for my other story. I guess that one just isn't nearly as good XP)

**Of Fears Unknown: Chapter Nine**

James peered cautiously out of Hermione's bag, hoping not to be seen. If only the door were ajar another inch or so, he might make a run for it. However, it was not so. If he were to risk himself now, he would certainly be discovered. That Malfoy chap was not far off, either, and he would surely want a repeat performance upon discovering the ferret. And this time, said ferret would find out the rest of that unfinished spell. Anyway, he would naturally have made a break for the professor—they would know him—had said teacher not been one Severus Snape. He did not feel that he could trust the man. In fact, he occasionally let himself think that the dangerous-looking wizard was out to get him.

All around, students were carefully measuring and weighing ingredients, and with utmost care adding them to cauldrons and mixing them in. A strange mixture of aromas permeated the air. Some were sweet and came from the successful cauldrons, where puffs of pink smoke, shaped like butterflies, rose from their contents. Others smelled horrid, their descriptions too disgusting to relate, the cauldrons filled with grey-green bubbling sludge, as like ground slugs.

There were two explosions in class that day—James knew there had to be one some time. The first, predictably, was Seamus, whose measurements had been inaccurate, and proportions nonexistent. "Ten points from Gryffindor," Snape had declared in his monotonous purr.

As for the second... "Right, I'm done," Ron said, drawring his stirring instrument from the potion. "Why isn't it doing that smoke trick?"

"Ron, you need Ptolera," Hermione reminded him.

"Where's it say that?"

"Right there," she pointed. Ron scowled. "It's in the cabinet over there. And Ron, you're welcome."

"Yeah, yeah..." He stalked off, to the far corner of the dungeon. Unseen, as Harry and Hermione continued with their work, a blonde head peered over the side of the tale, and an attached arm reached over and dropped a pinch of dark green powder into the unattended mixture before quickly withdrawing out of sight. At once, the lightly simmering, translucent magenta liquid began to boil, and changed to an angry shade of red. Ron returned with a small glass jar filled with what looked like dried flower petals. He took a pinch, looked at the recipe in his Potions book, then ground them in his palm and dropped them into the bubbling mix.

"Ron!" Harry and Hermione both exclaimed as the potion glowed and growled. Before he could get away, it exploded, and the redhead was thrown back, crashing into the table behind. James and everything else sitting on the table, aside from the cauldrons, were blown off. With a squeak, the ferret hit the floor first, the textbooks and other belongings within the bag piling on top of him.

"What is the meaning of this, Mr. Weasely?" Snape demanded, gliding over to the table. He hauled the redhead roughly to his feet by his robe, the student clutching his arm in pain. Hermione, watching the two, stooped down to pick up her bag. She carefully lifted the books off the weasel, checking to make sure he was all right. James gasped in relief as the pressure was removed from his lungs. "What did you put in the cauldron?" Snape demanded in little more than a hiss, after examining the remnants of the mixture.

"He put in all the right ingredients," Hermione told him. "I was watching him."

"Assisting a classmate on an individual assignment," Snape observed, "Five points from Gryffindor." He turned back to Ron. "You have obviously injured yourself in your idiocy. Go and reacquaint yourself with the hospital wing. And for making this mess and breaking school instruments, another twenty-five points from Gryffindor. Be here at seven o'clock tonight for detention, Weasely."

Sulking, though knowing better than to argue, Ron picked up his things with his good arm and headed out. "See you later, Ron," Harry assured him as he passed. "We'll come visit you." Ron grunted a response and disappeared through the door.

"Well what are you all standing around for? Get back to work," Snape snapped. The awed trance that had fallen over the class was broken, and students bustled around, frantically tending to their neglected potions that had been left to boil for too long.

_I don't very much like this Professor Snape_, James thought with a sniff. His little ears pricked and he looked to see a familiar blonde sniggering with his cronies. _Wait, scratch that. Even Snape is not so detestable as __**this**__ devil._

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"I can't believe he did that!" Hermione fumed, dropping her bag in a red lounge chair in the vacant Gryffindor common room.

"Who, Ron?" Harry asked, setting down his own. They had some free time before their next classes.

"Malfoy," she corrected him.

"What's he done how?"

"He put something into Ron's potion."

"How do you know it was him?" Hermione gave him a look. "I hate Draco just as much as you, but we ca't blame him for everything that goes wrong."

_Yes you can_, James thought from his place on a table near the armchair.

"Well who else would do it?" she countered.

A moment's thought. "You're right; Malfoy did it." James smiled inwardly in amusement. Hermione grinned at the black-haired boy, and went up one of the two flights of steps, which wound up into towers. "At least Ron is all right," he called up.

"Yeah. But I don't think that Malfoy would do anything that dangerous in case he gets caught."

_You're right,_ James thought, rage swelling inside his tiny body, _He saves the lethal pranks for ferrets._

"Still, Ron could've been hurt worse. We've got to get Malfoy caught some time."

_Can I help?_

"And get caught ourselves, without a doubt," she replied as she descended the steps, carrying a great, fluffy ginger-tabby cat.

"For pranking Ron and each other all the time? That doesn't make any sense."

"Neither does the combination of Snape and teaching, but that hasn't stopped him." It was at this moment that James wisht he could laugh. "Look at the fuzzy little ferret, Crookshanks," Hermione crooned to her cat.

_A witch with a cat. How fitting._

"Now Crookshanks, you're going to have to be nice to this one. You can't hunt it like Ron's rat, all right?" She set the feline on the table beside the ferret; James scooted a few steps back as the cat pushed its smashed face in his own, yellow eyes glaring into his.

_How wonderful_, he thought bleakly. _The dog and I got along famously. Now I get to socialize with something ten times less cowardly. This should go rather well._ Crookshanks raised a forepaw, staring thoughtfully as the weasel backed away a few more paces. The paw reached out and padded him in the side. It drew back, and the feline stalked closer, regardless of personal bubbles and boundaries. _Here it comes..._ He braced himself. The cat's face leaned closer and closer. And then he was pinned under its paws as it happily licked the top of his head, purring contentedly.

"Oh look, Crookshanks likes him."

"That's a relief," said Harry, letting out his breath.

_Hey—get your paws off of me!_ The feline continued to groom him, regardless. _Your tongue does __**not**__belong there!_

"He's cleaning him like a little kitten."

"You're sure Crookshanks is a boy, Hermione? He's actung awful motherly."

"He just really likes this ferret," Hermione replied knowingly.

_You know, this is actually quite soothing..._

After a few minutes, both animals were placed on the floor, and Hermione and Harry took turns dragging a piece of string back and forth before them. Crookshanks playfully pounced on it and chased it. James sat out of the way, watching with half-interest, more consumed with figuring a plan of escape. Not wanting him to be left out, Harry dangled the string before his nose. James instinctively sniffed at it, but that was all. The end of the cord was left to sit "temptingly" before him. He watched it move back and forth with no more interest than before. "What's wrong, little guy?" Harry asked. "Don't you want to play?"

James sniffed indignantly. _Play is for children._

"Here, let me try." Hermione kneeled down beside him and took the string. She dragged it to and fro, just the same, but now, each time she changed direction, she flipped her wrist so that the end curled up and flew at his face. He continued to resist, although now he was beginning to get very annoyed. At last, he swatted it away when it whipped his little nose, pinning it under his paw. Hermione smiled in triumph and began to pull it ever so slightly.

James looked up into their expectant faces. _You really want me to do this, don't you?_ He batted awkwardly at the fraying end of the string.

"He's still not interested," Harry sighed. "It's like he doesn't know how to play."

Sighing himself, and feeling very, _very_ immature, James rocked back on his little haunches and sprang, pouncing on the string and gnawing at it with his sharp little teeth. _There. Satisfied?_ Hermione pulled the string out of his grasp and resumed pulling it back and forth. _What? Again?_ James sighed in despair. _How many times are you going to make me do this?_

Thankfully, around the seventh or eighth time around, Crookshanks came to the rescue, leaping over Harry's arm to catch the cord as Hermione dragged it near. The students laughed. "I suppose we were neglecting Crookshanks."

"I guess so," Hermione grinned back.

"Is it time to go yet?"

"I think so. We should get ready." Hermione was to have Ancient Runes as her next class, and Harry was off to shudder Divination (although he insisted that it really wasn't so bad...as least while Ron was there...) As they made ready to leave, the lass petted the ferret and the cat. "Now take care of him, Crookshanks," she said gaily, tapping her cat affectionately on the nose. They went to the hole that was blocked off by the back of a great painting, on the other side of which was a rotund, portly lady (who moved, as did all the other paintings in the castle, so Norrington had previously noted with some alarm) and said, "Butterbeer." The painting swung open and they walked through. James raced toward his only means of escape, but the 'door' was already closing. He narrowly evaded breaking his nose. With surprisingly minimal frustration, he turned to the tabby as it padded up beside him and squeaked once. _So now what?

* * *

_All right, there you have it, folks! I'll try to keep it up, so see you next time the moon is full. XD It's like organizing a Gathering, except for pirates and witches instead of cats. Ha.

Please Review.


	11. Chapter 10

Hey all! Sorry about missing the full moon. The chapter proved harder to write than I'd expected, and it decided to make itself longer than intended. Ah well, at least today's the half moon (which in the Warriors realm means tonight, the medicine cats will share tongues with StarClan. Weeee). That being said, the full moon is barely over a week away, so please don't be expecting anything for this month. May looks promising though. Why? Well I've managed to vacuum a giant plot bunny out from under the couch!

Still, even though I was prompt with my last updates, there were only five reviews. Thanks to those of you who did (JazzTrumpet, Cort, Little Miss Sparrow, Katherine-The-Crowned, and Authoressinhidingasecondtime), but what happened to the rest?

Oh well. Here's your chapter. Take it or leave it. I no longer care.

**Disclaimer: Well what use is a disclaimer if there's no one to read it? Blah. Do not own.**

**Chapter Ten**

There was a plethora of smells for James' curious ferret nose to investigate. He found himself exploring every corner and crevice on the common room. He would have gone for the towers to, had he been big enough to climb the steps. Much of the time he was accompanied by Crookshanks, and he found that they could understand one another. This proved useful, for when the weasel was drawn toward the enticing aroma of jinx-laced sweets, the feline saw fit to warn him of the danger.

When he had explored to fullest extent, he and Crookshanks found comfortable places by the fire and sat looking at one another. _Is there any way to get out of here?_ he asked.

Crookshanks twitched the tip of his tail. _Wait for the humans to let you out._

_But can't you get out without a human?_

The ginger feline flicked his ears. _None that I have discovered as of yet._

James sighed. _It is important that I get out of here before tonight. I think the sooner, the better._

_Why?_

_I am a human._

_You are a ferret._

_Yes, yes, for __**now**__. But I will become a human again, and that ability must be kept a secret._

_Why?_

_Danger._ He went on to try to better explain the situation.

_You're lucky_, Crookshanks purred when he had finished.

_Lucky? Things couldn't be worse!_

_You get to explore and understand two different worlds._

Pause. _So how do __**you**__ usually get out?_

_I purr at a human and paw at the door,_ the feline replied in a you're-possibly-the-only-one-who-doesn't-get-this voice.

_Then I suppose I have no choice but to wait. So what do you usually do to keep yourself occupied?_

_Maybe steal a quill to play with; sleep and groom myself. And from the smell of things, I'd say you could use a washing, too._

So _that's_ what that smell was... _I suppose I do._ However, the idea of licking himself clean wasn't exactly appealing.

———

Fortunately, it was within an hour that students began to file back into the common room. They exclaimed at the ferret and petted him, but before he could make a motion to be let out, they had set up their things for homework, and manners kept James from interrupting them.

Hours passed. More and more students filed in, few taking any notice of the impatiently patient ferret waiting on the table.

_Do you need some help?_ Crookshanks enquired amusedly at length.

Norrington sighed. _No. I suppose I should learn to do this myself. After all, what if it happens again and you are not there to help?_

The cat flicked his tail. _If you say so_. He rose to his paws and padded away.

James sighed again. _Ferrets have it tough._

Evening came around, and it was time for supper. All the students left at the same time, and so the door was open long enough for the ferret to make his escape, darting over and under the feet of the teenagers and preteens filing out.

As soon as he judged he was a safe distance away, he paused on a step to look back at the witches and wizards. His little stomach growled at the thought that they were all going to eat, and the ferret part of him suddenly realized that it wasn't going to get fed any time soon, and wanted to go back to what would be a pampered and easy life. Naturally, the Commodore part of him, who had faced many times where food had not been easy to come by and thus had nearly starved on more than one account, won out, and he carefully began to climb down the steps.

Suddenly, the ground moved beneath him as the stairway swung around. _Whoa! Wait, wait—go back! I need to get to—oh._ The stairway had brought him right where he needed to be. _Well then._ Sniffing, he scurried down the hallway. Thankful for his reliable sense of direction, he navigated his way through the castle, heading confidently for the great oak doors.

At last he came to the entrance hall, outside the Great Hall, and with blind relief he hurried up to the doors. His victory stopped here as he realized bleakly that there was no way he could open the door to get out.

The doors to the Great Hall swung open a few minutes later, and students began to stream out—and here he had some semblance of how long he had been traveling through the castle. An idea suddenly dawned on the weasel. _Hagrid!_ Hagrid would have attended supper with the other professors. Without wasting another moment, he darted through the crows and into the Hall, desperately searching for the Gamekeeper. _Or Dumbledore, or anyone,_ he thought to himself, broadening his search.

To his dismay, a professor spotted him before he could spot them. It was Snape, and as soon as his black gaze found the ferret, he lengthened his stride to approach him, cloak billowing around him as if catching a breeze. Norrington didn't know whether to run or stay put, and before he could decide, he was scooped into the air. He found himself face-to-face with a young witch, probably a few years younger than Hermione and her comrades. "Well aren't you cute!" she exclaimed. "Someone must be missing you—and if not, you'll just _have_ to stay with me!"

"Fortunately for him, he is in fact missing," Snape's voice purred disdainfully—he always seemed to speak in a purr, James thought, and he wondered how much the man liked his whiskey—and with a subtle dread creeping up his spine, he turned to see the wizard looming over them. "Our _Gamekeeper_ seems incapable of keeping track of his own rodents."

_Rodent!_ James scoffed indignantly.

Snape held out his hand. "Give it to me, and I shall return it to its rightful place."

It was almost relief when Norrington realized he trusted the wizard to help him, however suspicious he might seem. _Prickly for introvertedness? Cold or shy?_ He shook his pelt to clear away the thoughts that had nearly drawn a connection between himself and the shadowy wizard. No, it couldn't be. There were no similarities between him and this man. The only thing that had been true in his train of thought had been his trust. With this in mind, he climbed out of the girl's hands and into Snape's. What he formerly would have expected to be a vicelike grip was gentle, relaxed—perhaps even careful. Again James had to shake his head. One realization, and he was fantasizing so much else that belied the Potions professor's character.

_Judge people for whom they are,_ he reminded himself, _not for whom you think they are._ He looked blankly at the foreboding figure, no longer knowing what to expect. Following suit, he must have jumped a foot when the man suddenly sneezed.

Snape glowered, fishing a kerchief from withing his robes. "It appears I am allergic to ferrets," he growled. James flattened himself apologetically against the man's palm, although he couldn't help but be amused. "Let's get on with it then," he muttered, picking his way through the students and out of the Great Hall, discouraging any strange looks—for indeed it was strange for Severus Snape to be seen with an animal—with a glare.

They glided past the oak doors without slowing down. _Wait—wait, we need to go out there. We need to go out._

"You won't be leaving that way. Another student may mistake you as a pet, and that is intolerable. You will be staying in Dumbledore's office until you change back. Your clothing will be awaiting your return," he added with a disdainful sneer. James squeaked indignantly at his tone, but could find no problem with the plan. Even if a student were to enter—a rare occasion in itself—they would not thing to take him away, should he be seen.

They passed the stone gargoyle—James learned that the password had changed to lemon-sherbet cobbler—and wound their way up to Dumbledore's office.

"Ah, Master Norrington," the Headmaster greeted him when they had entered. "You've given Hagrid another scare, lad." The ferret bowed his head apologetically. "However, I suppose it cannot be helped that a student has mistaken you for a pet. I should say the timing of your escape was impeccable. I take it that you were trapped in a common room, trying to find a way out?" James' pelt prickled with embarrassment. "Was it Miss Granger again?" He nodded.

"A Ravenclaw first-year nearly took him for her own. Lucky for him I was there to save him," Snape sneered.

_And I'm grateful to you, but you don't have to put it like that!_ James had never felt so helpless. He had once been the fiercest, most independent fighter in the Spanish Main. Now he was reduced to relying on these _magical folk_ to bail him out every tine there was trouble. Frustrated, he leapt from Snape's hand and landed squarely on a chair, from which he climbed to the ground. He scurried to his clothes, which were piled in a corner beside a bookcase, and cirled up on top of his shirt, almost-black eyes glittering at them over his tail.

"Dumbledore, we must discuss a solution to this problem before someone discovers him."

"Quite right, Severus. I believe I may have a temporary solution, but I shall have a word with Professor Lupin when next I have the chance."

"I'm surprised he is still working here, after what happened last year," Snape growled.

"He saved the lives of several students _and_ helped to reveal the truth about Sirius Black," Dumbledore pointed out. "The revealing of his lycanthropy should not have cast him his job, even," he added, eyes twinkling, "if it is the job which you have coveted since you gained your position here, Severus."

A mixture of shock and amusement made James' head shoot up; amusement that Snape wanted another's job, and shock that this Lupin chap, who was supposed to help him, was himself a werewolf—possibly the one who had infected him in the first place. An alarmed squeak escaped him, and he resolved to keep his guard up when meeting the wizard. With a prickle of unease, he realized that Lupin had not been among the professors surrounding hi when he had first arrived and changed. Just who was this man? And what sort of help could he possibly offer? _Sitting here wondering surely isn't going to help_, he scolded himself, instead forcing himself to relax and rest. All this talk of finding solutions was making him nervous, and he had rather face it with a clear head and an alert body.

———————————

Early the next morning, James became a man again, and quickly dressed himself before he could be discovered. Now he sat in the couch by the tea table, chin resting on his hands, deep in thought.

"Ah, Mr. Norrington," Dumbledore greeted him as he appeared in the room. "I see you are you again—but then, were you ever other than you?"

"If you were attempting to drawr me into your philosophy, your have missed your mark," the Commodore responded absently.

"You seem very fond of sarcasm, dear boy," the wizard noted with amusement.

James looked up, startled, and realized what he had said. "My apologies. Among a crwe of incompetent soldiers, sarcasm was my closest friend, and the only thing that kept me sane."

Albus only gave him a look over his half-moon glasses, eyes twinkling. "Tea?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Two lumps of sugar as before? Shall I serve it in a saucer as before?"

"How embarrassing," Norrington confessed with good-humour, self-consciously accepting the beverage.

"A Commodore embarrassed? Preposterous."

"Yes well—you said you had found a temporary solution for my popularity with the students?" he asked, eager to change the subject.

"Ah yes." Dumbledore set his tea on the table and rose, straightening his robes before striding away. James followed though bringing his own tea along—it was rather good. The Headmaster led him to a small chest sitting contentedly on top of a vast pile of things on a table by a banister. Dumbledore lifted its ancient-looking lid and reached in. "You must wear this at all times."

The teacup shattered against the floor. Norrington stared in an almost horrified shock at the band of dark red leather in the elderly wizard's hand. It was a collar. Shakily, he met his companion's gaze. "Why?"

"It will give you an owner—that is to say, it will give you the appearance of having an owner, so that students will be discouraged from taking you for a pet. It will change size with you, so that you may put it on for yourself, and you can—or rather, should—wear it at all times so that you will not forget it, and never have a need to worry."

"No." The man's voice was more desperate that Dumbledore could have expected it to be. "I am not a slave, I am not property or someone's _pet_—and I'll thank you not to mark me as one! No one owns me—I own myself!"

"It is only to give the appearance, Master Norr—."

"—And everyone will think I am owned. Do not ask me to forfeit my freedom—even if it is only in the minds of others."

"Do you fear containment?" Albus asked sagely. "Confinement?"

James took a steadying breath. "Perhaps," he admitted.

"There is more to this than you are telling me, Master Norrington," the Headmaster observed.

"I suppose there may be, but I cannot think what." He shifted away from the spreading puddle of tea. "My apologies. It was a nice teacup, and is a shame to lose."

"Indeed it is. Fortunately, it is not lost." He produced a want and waved it over the porcelain. "_Reparo_." Magically, the broken shards of the cup came back together, and the puddle shrank as the teacup filled.

"Neat trick," Norrington managed after staring dumbfounded for a few moments. Magic was still a huge thing for him, even after more than a month.

"Indeed it is. Tell me, Master Norrington," Dumbledore went on in a much more serious tone, "what do you think of when presented with this collar?"

James stared intensely and the proffered leather band. His dread-filled green gaze flitted to meet the wizard's, and he struggled to answer, "The hangman's noose." There was an uneasy silence. "I'm not sure why, really. I suppose it has to do with being marked, or perhaps taken prisoner."

"But this collar does none of that," Albus replied patiently. "You must wear it so that your secret is not compromised."

"I can not. I _will_ not," was James' resolute response.

"Mr. Norrington, you must understand—."

"No, _you_ must understand. I am not bloody wearing that thing, not if I can help it!" he snarled, before turning tail and storming out of the Headmaster's office. The door slammed behind him, echoing slightly.

"Foolish James," the elderly wizard murmured sympathetically, gazing at the closed door, "have you really so little trust?"

* * *

There you have it, if there even is a "you". If not, I'm speaking to air. HAI AIR!! -frantic waving- Let's hope the wind is better about reviewing. Please follow its example.


	12. What You Don't Know, Hurts You

Hey, all. Sorry for the wait. I had a little trouble finishing this chapter, even though I had the ending mapped out perfectly and vividly in my head. It was finished a day or so after the full moon, and I'm posting within the same week, so it's all good, right? (Even if it is only withing the week by, like, a day...) It's because my Sundays have been busy. I usually write these chapters between the services at church, and get at least three pages done a go (updating once a month, that's at least twelve pages) but these last ones have been busy, what with Pentecost and Mother's Day and whatnot.

Reviews—Wow, lots of 'em this time! Yays. Thanks to: **Captain-Jana-Sparrow, Katherine-The-Crowned, Atticus620, JazzTrumpet **(watch out–he might take offense to you pitying him), **RespectTheSporks, Little Miss Sparrow **(Really? I always felt that my Dumbledore was ooc. Anywiggle, the collar would be hidden under the collar of his shirt. -sniff- Really! Do you honestly think I would make him do something so obvious?), my ever-faithful **Authoress**, and **Swann-Shooter** (Seriously, who _doesn't?_ Does your name mean you'll shoot Lizzie for me? Cuz I'm hiring an assassin to get revenge for James. -woocrack!- )

**Disclaimer: **I just sneezed. Disney must be talking about me stealing his characters again. -shifty eyes- ...

**Chapter Eleven: What You Don't Know Hurts You**

James stormed through the castle, allowing his feet and the moving stairwells to lead him where they willed; nearly bursting for anger, he knew not where he was going, just that he was going. At one point he found himself climbing up and up and up, and he realized he must be heading for the roof, before he was once again consumed by anger, and perhaps a hint of fear, and he fancied he might throw himself off whatever tower he should find himself atop.

The reader will be happy to know that he did not act upon that fancy when he emerged on to roof of a high tower; he only crept sullenly to the side and looked over. He had not time to contemplate as he had originally planned to, for he was suddenly aware of a warmth on his shoulders. It was not the sun's warmth, though it was passing noon, but rather that of the moon, revealed by the shifting clouds. "But how am I to retrieve my clothes?" he demanded without hope before pain overcame him.

Fight it as he did, he could not stave off the change. He felt fur sprouting, growing along his body. He felt his frame shrink and become more compact. And yet he fought against it. He thought about everything that made him human—all the emotions, all the thoughts and memories; all the grief, mistakes, and attempts at righting his own wrongs; all his loyalty and fellowship among his men; his beloved _Dauntless_ and the freedom she had given him until her unfortunate demise; and, most predictably, his Elizabeth. (In the back of his mind, he shuddered with the realization that he could not remember the colour of her eyes.) He trembled and shook with the effort, and though the pain had doubled at being restrained, he did not give in.

And then, everything stopped. James collapsed to one side, gasping for breath. He was not a man, this he knew. But neither was he a ferret, and that was some victory. At last, he staggered on all fours—finding that indeed he could not stand up—over to the window through which he had climbed to see his reflection. He started in shock when his twisted form came into view. Tawny-brown fur covered his body, darker fur over his eyes and covering where his beard had been, as well as on his hands and feet, which were now more pawlike. His face was narrower, more ferret than man, although human eyes stared out at him from under his tousled mop of hair, and other human features showed through here and there, such as eyebrows and furry, though human, ears.

His broad shoulders were now narrow, and his arms and legs were shorter. A short, stubby tail had poked a hole through his trousers in a most unforgiving place—for he was indeed still big enough to wear his clothes, although they hung loosely from him, sleeves and pantlegs tripping him as he tried to move. He managed to nudge them up so that his paws were free.

_What now?_ he asked his reflection, unable to speak. He couldn't stay up here—not all day and night while he waited for the stars to set. But where could he go? _Well, the first thing is to get down from here,_ he sighed. Luckily, the room he had climbed out of had been the owlery (though if he were a ferret, he would not be so lucky now amid so many birds of prey), where few could come during class hours.

Moving quickly, for he knew not how soon the class would end, he tried to find his way back to Dumbledore's office, in the hopes that the wise wizard would know how he could change back from this disfigured form. A great bell sounded, signaling the end of the class, and with dread, he heard doors opening and students talking. It was only a matter of time before someone saw him. With this in mind, he darted through the nearest open door, the room beyond which appeared deserted.

But oh no! There was someone in this room after all! He darted under a desk, praying he had not been spotted.

"Who's there?" he winced as a voice demanded. "Come out, or I shall force you out."

_Best not worsen an already terrible situation,_ James thought. _At least it is a professor and not a student._ He slithered out from his hiding place and made an attempt to stand on two legs to see over the desks. He found the professor's gaze locked on him, and they stared at one another in a frozen, shocked silence.

"What _are_ you?" the wizard whispered—the wereling had never seen him before—taking a half-step toward him.

"Lupin, you should be on your way," Snape said as he entered the room from the office, unaware of what was going on. When Lupin did not look at him, he followed his gaze to see what he was staring at. "Dear God, what is that _thing_?"

The relief Norrington had felt upon seeing Snape was smothered with anguish at his appearance. However, not one to deviate from his purpose, he attempted to say "Snape!"—what came out was a terrible inhuman screech.

"Oh, it's you," the Potions master sneered disdainfully.

"Who is he?"

"Our guest, with whom you'll be meeting."

"Ah. Then you would be Mr Norrington," Lupin sounded awed. "Has he always been like this?"

"No. Usually, he is a ferret. I see he grew bored with _that_."

Remus stared at the wereling for a long time. "How did you get like this?"

The horribly mutated creature only gazed back at him with sad, sea green eyes. There was a sound out in the hall, and they could hear students approaching. James whirled around in surprise, and gave another terrible squawk.

"Today's class is coming," Severus warned.

"Follow me," said Lupin, gesturing at him as if coaxing an animal. "Quickly. You can hide yourself in my office." James dropped to all fours and loped after him, sighing with relief as the door closed behind them in the nick of time as students began to stream into the classroom. "Here," Lupin patted a central desk. "Up onto the table so we're at eye level. I don't like the idea of talking down to you." The wereling obligingly scrambled onto the desk and lay on his stomach as a cat or dog might. The Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, on his monthly day off where Snape would sub for him, went to another desk against a wall, where a small cauldron was steaming, and poured some of its contents into a goblet. "Drink this. It wouldn't help me in such a state, but it may help you."

Clasping the base of the vessel with his dark paws, James lapped up the foul-smelling potion, forced to trust the werewolf despite his misgivings that this was the one that had bitten him. Soon after, he began to feel very strange, and slowly, slowly, he saw his hands beginning to change shape. Alarmed, he looked up at Lupin, who was watching with an unreadable expression, and was about to ask what was happening.

"Don't try to speak. The class will hear you."

And so, forced not to know what was going on, James transformed again. There was a point there it became hard to breathe, and here the pain of change was nearly too much for him to take, and he nearly fell off the desk as he struggled to stay conscious. He felt his limbs growing longer and his tail growing shorter. He noticed his paws were more like hands, and distantly realized that he was becoming a man again.

He soon contrived to climb off the desk and stand, albeit unsteadily, human once more, panting for breath, clothing torn and in tatters. "There you are," Lupin said encouragingly. "Threat gone."

James only looked at him weakly before collapsing out of sheer exhaust against the wall with a soft thud. The pain of the change did not leave him. "Why?" he managed to choke out, clutching his stomach with gritted teeth as the werewolf knelt beside him with a concerned expression on his face. "Why does it still hurt?"

"Your body wants to become a ferret again, but the potion is keeping you human."

He gasped in pain and rolled onto his side. "A p-potion? You gave me magic?"

"I understand your fear of magic, Mr Norrington, and I know you are without magic of your own."

"A Muggle, y-you mean."

"Please understand. That potion is meant to help. If someone had seen you, things would be worse. Trust me." The pain intensified sharply, and Lupin had to clamp a hand over the man's mouth to keep his cry from being heard. "The pain will subside within an hour. Please, try to stay calm."

Panting for breath, James could only not. After several moments, he struggled to sit up and lean against the wall. He met Lupin's gaze once more. "How long has it been?"

Remus laughed softly. ""Five or six minutes since you've taken it, I think. It's only pain, it can't hurt you." He smiled. "It will get better. Trust me."

"I find that rather hard to do."

"What do you mean?" Lupin asked with concern.

James was silent for a few moments, biting down another cry of pain. "It w-was you, wasn't it."

The professor stared at him with suspicion and confusion before he understood what was meant and relief flowed over his face. "Oh is that what you think? No no, I was with Snape the day you were discovered. He was helping me to prepare my own potion for the next night. Though he wouldn't want to, he will vouch for me, should you feel the need to ask him."

James grunted in pain, this time holding his chest—it felt as though his heart and lungs had become jealous of the adventures his stomach was having. "I-I believe you," he mumbled breathlessly. "B-but—who?"

Lupin shook his head. "We don't know. Not yet. But we must find out as quickly as possible, before someone else gets hurt." It was several minutes of silence—interrupted only by the occasional vocalization of pain and the sounds of the class going on in the next room. After much thought, Lupin asked, "How did you become like that?"

"Like what?"

"That half-beast. I've never seen anything like it."

"I fought the change," James replied simply, as though it were common knowledge.

"But you were actually able to hinder the transformation. It takes a very strong person to do that, not to mention incredibly resistant to the disease."

"Disease," Norrington scoffed under his breath.

"Well, call it what you will, it is still what we know it to be." James covered his mouth with his arm to stifle a gasp of pain. "You should try to sleep. You're exhausted as it is, and by the time you wake up, the pain should be gone."

"I doubt I will f-find sleep like this."

"I can't say I expected otherwise. Just try. You may find it is less of a feat than you think."

"You seem very certain," Norrington grunted with suspicion.

Lupin only shrugged with amusement. "I know what you're going through. If you need me, I'll be right here." And the professor settled himself in an armchair with a copy of the latest _Daily Prophet_.

Muttering to himself about how much less troublesome it would have been to stay stuck between two forms, the wereling lowered himself to his side and, clutching still at his stomach, rested his head on the wood of the floor and closed his eyes. Almost immediately, a wave of exhaustion swept over him, and he was out in another breath.

———————————

When next he opened his eyes, the room was dark. He stumbled to his feet, crying out as pain tore through him, and tried to remember where he was and why he hurt so much.

"Does it still hurt?" a surprised voice asked.

James struggled to recognize it. "Lupin," he finally remembered.

"That's right."

"How long has it been?"

"Several hours. Are you still in pain?" James grunted in affirmation, clutching involuntarily at the edge of the desk he was leaning on. Lupin nodded gravely. "I fear you may be having a negative reaction to the potion. Come, let's get you to the Hospital Wing—Madam Pomfrey can give you something for the pain."

"If I've reacted so badly to this magic, what makes you think that giving me _more_ magic will make me better?"

"She'll give you some Muggle painkillers."

"Muggle medicine in a non-Muggle hospital?"

"There is the occasional Muggle-born who doesn't take well to potions."

James swallowed another cry, despising the way that he could not ignore this pain as he could with other sorts. "S-sounds reasonable."

"Then come out of the moonlight so I can help you get there."

The were-ferret hazarded a look down to see that he was standing in a narrow beam of white light. Behind him, the curtains were drawn in an effort to block out as much light as possible. Realization set in; Lupin had delayed his own inevitable transformation to avoid possible hurting his guest. "N-no. You should find relief for yourself," he offered. "I-I'll get there on m-my own."

"James." It was said in the voice of on speaking to an old friend one knows very well. "Let me help you."

Taking a deep breath, Norrington commanded himself to move. With clumsy, faltering steps, he stumbled toward the teacher. With a sudden gasp and a spasmodic twitch, he collapsed. He was out of the moonlight, and that had only worsened everything. For a long time he lay there, taking in desperate, painful breaths, unable to move. "The—the m-moon."

"She's mine," Lupin growled with a fierce and inhuman glint in his eyes. "Stay away from her." The magnitude of his pain made it hard for James to think, but somewhere, he realized that Remus's change was imminent, and he found the strength to crawl toward the door. After several exhausting moments, he felt hands haul him up and support him. "I'm so sorry," emotions made the werewolf's voice thick. "I never imagined you'd be in so much pain." He guided the former-Commodore through the door.

"I-it—it's only pain. I-i-it can't—hurt me."

They contrived to move into the hallway, and from there, they proceeded toward the Hospital Wing. It was slow going, although the entire trip probably took fifteen or twenty minuted. Several times James stumbled, or tripped over his dragging feet. "C-can you not put on a-a light?" he mumbled, blinking in the darkness and hoping dearly that the requested light would keep him conscious.

"If I did, we wouldn't be able to see where the moonlight shines through the windows."

With no strength to argue, James was forced to limp on in silence—perhaps limp is a bad word. More like 'was half-dragged'. Yes, I believe that does him better—. It was a very focused silence for most of the rest of their journey; one was focused on staying conscious, and the other on staying human.

They skirted pools of moonlight, though with each one they passed, James could sense his companion slipping closer and closer to his change. When it came to the stairwells—_Pure_ _torture_, the invalid groaned inwardly—Lupin would take out his want and tap the bannister. The steps would then begin to move, like what the reader knows as an escalator. All one had to do was manage the first and the last step. The Muggle could only sigh with relief at the convenience of the magic. Even so, the trip was difficult, and neither were doing well when at last their destination came into sight.

As trouble had it, the entire wing was bathed in moonlight, and so poor James had to drag himself on alone while Lupin waited in the shadows of the foyer. Madam Pomfrey, up late to organize her medicines, looked up with a fright when something—a tray that had been resting at the foot of a bed—clattered loudly to the floor, and saw James, clutching with one arm at his stomach and with the other at the bedpost, drenched in sweat, hardly able to stay upright. "Help," he mumbled, before sliding to the floor.

"You poor dear!" she cried, hurrying to his side. "What's happened to you?"

"He's having a negative reaction to a potion I gave him," Lupin told her from the dark. He quickly explained how James had been stuck between two forms and what had transpired afterward, finishing with his idea about the painkillers.

"I agree. Muggle medicine might be best for him. I'll fetch some, and we'll get you into a bed." James could only nod, panting with exhaustion and closing his eyes in relief at once again being in the moonlight.

He reached for the fallen metal tray in an attempt at doing the nurse a favour by retrieving it, anf at the same time using it to prop himself up as he tried to get to his feet. What he didn't count on was the moonlight reflecting off of its polished silver surface and shining directly on Lupin. At first, the man shielded his eyes from the glare, but almost immediately afterward stared right at it with a frightening mix of rage and hunger. It was time. The transformation had begun. Lupin staggered closer and closer to the reflection until he had stepped full into the moonlight itself and immediately spun around to find the moon. James watched in horror and fascination as the professor's form twisted and changed shape, texture, and species.

"James, dear, come away from there!" Madam Pomfrey cried, rushing to the invalid's side.

Lupin, changes complete, now stood as a contorted cross between man and wolf (as was his usual form, as it were, unlike some others who are forced to change al the way to whatever were-creature they are). The creature opened eyes which seemed to glow an eerie yellow, and upon seeing the two humans huddled together on the floor, snarled, baring razor sharp teeth, and dropped to all fours and began to approach. _Of course_, James thought bleakly. _Bloodthirsty and coming after us. How typical._ Madam Pomfrey shrieked, and he, unable to ignore his inner commodore, struggled to a standing position and shielded her with his body, presenting his back to the monster. Better him than her—if it hurt him, it would make little difference, for he was already infected. Again he nearly swooned, and so had to grip the woman's upper arms for balance. He found her gaze and saw her fear. Smellt it.

He could hear the werewolf close behind him, and he could feel its breath on his neck. He turned his head slightly and could see it, teeth bared and eyes glaring. At the movement, it lunged, and James braced himself for the attack. An attack than never came. Instead, there was a distant howling which floated in through the open windows from the direction of the Forbidden Forest. Lupin froze, listening intently. Then, as though reluctantly pulled by an incredible force, he turned and loped away, howling back to whatever had been out there. Silence fell in the infirmary as the two panted with relief.

"H-has he gone?" James asked wearily.

"Yes," Pomfrey replied breathlessly. "He's gone."

He sighed, "Great," and, quite promptly, fainted.

* * *

Yays, finally gotted that typed up! Woo. And worry not, I have a good start on the next chapter with a mind for where it's going. Hopefully this time I won't get writer's block right in the middle where I'll know perfectly well what I want to write, yet have no clue how to write it. Like I said: Hopefully.

Anywhosit, Like? Don't like? Don't care? Tell me—in that review you were planning on sending. ('You've been planning this from the beginning!' says the pirate-quoter in my brain...)

So please: Review! ;D


	13. Secret Compromised

Well well! I've actually got this up on the full moon, surprise of surprises! Took me ages to finish it though. It's thirty-one pages long! By far the longest Fears Unknown chapter thus far!

Dunno how on-schedule the next chapter will be; I'll be away in Guatemala for the next week and a half, and if this trip is anything like Ireland, I'll be much too busy to write much.

**Chapter Twelve**

"Here's yer readin', James," Hagrid announced as he strode toward the wereling's bed in the Hospital Wing, placing a small pile of books on the nightstand.

"Thank you, Rubeus," James murmured, having woken up a bit drowsy from the painkillers. By now, the pain had gone away, and though he was certain he had recovered enough to leave, Madam Pomfrey insisted on him staying to rest, on account of everything he had gone through the day and night prior. "I hate to seem needy..."

"Not at all, sir. Whatev'r ye need."

James lay his head back on the pillow. "Thank you. I suppose I shall see you again this afternoon when I change again."

"Well I'm not leavin' jes' yet," Hagrid replied eagerly. "I brought someone ter see yeh." And he stepped aside to reveal little golden Chrystafi. "An' 'e's got a surprise for yer."

Norrington stared at the gargantuan man apprehensively for a moment before struggling into a sitting position. His gaze slid to the little golden foal. It was good to see him again, and with a small smile, James held out his hand, palm up, beckoningly. Eagerly, the unicorn surged forward and thrust its muzzle into his hand. The smile widened. "Hello there." He rubbed the bridge of the colt's nose, running his fingers through the fluffy, unruly forelock covering his forehead. One of his knuckles brushed against something that felt like a bump. Chrystafi shied away, as though James had touched a sensitive area. Brow creasing with concern, he beckoned the foal closer and brushed back the forelock, thinking the baby unicorn had perhaps bumped his delicate head on something. What he found was not a welt. He could only stare in shock, breath hitched in his throat, at the tiny crystal just beginning to break through the skin. He let out his breath and blinked, speechless. ""His horn..."

"Tha's right. Noticed it comin' in at las' night's feedin'."

"I suppose he's a slow grower."

"I think it was you, actually, Mr. Norrington." James looked up at him quizzically. "Been doing some research, yersee, an' I found out that a unicorn foal won't grow a horn if it's under a lot of stress. You remember when ye first came 'ere, 'e was scared of ev'rything? Didn' trust no one. Not till you came. It was you, ser. Yer th' one who calmed 'im down, and yer th' one who got 'im ter trust again. Ye done 'im good, James. Yer really done 'im good."

James smiled again. "At least I've managed to do _some_ good in all this craziness."

"There's the truth of it."

Their conversation continued for several minutes before James reached over to his bed table and handed Hagrid a pile of clothing. "Will you take this back with you? I seem to have a bad habit of losing them, and I know I'll feel better knowing where they are."

"Well sure, James. But, er," Hagrid looked a little awkward. "Does that mean yer—."

"Don't ask." And his upper torso, not covered by the sheets, flushed a bright red with embarrassment. "Please."

Hagrid only laughed, hard and loud. "I'll put these somewhere easy to find. Hope ye have a better today than ye had yest'rday. C'mon, Chrissie." And the Gameskeeper turned and strode out of the Hospital Wing, the little golden unicorn bouncing after him.

With a contented sigh, James lay his head back on the pillow and covered himself more appropriately with the sheets. No man should be showing off his chest hair when children are around, after all. And what if Madam Pomfrey had come in and seen him like that? No no, it was best if the sheets were pulled up to his armpits and his scandalously usual nakedness covered. He reached for one of the books and began to read, settling down for the few hours he had left.

It happened a little after noon, well after the bell for lunch had sounded. James had not eaten the food that had been brought to him, which worried the poor Nurse profusely, but he didn't care; he had never been hungry for lunch. Or at least he wasn't usually, being used to the standard two meals a day when at sea. Pomfrey had tried to tempt him by adding some sort of ferret treats to the meal, but he had declined more firmly, struggling not to take offense.

She had since left, and now, alone in the cavernous sickbay, thinking proudly about little Chrystafi and his new horn, he grunted low as the familiar, though foreign warmth of the moon set his shoulders, and soon the rest of his being, tingling.

He hardly felt the pain of change, still feeling the effects of the painkillers. But he wasn't focusing on that anyway, for just as he was beginning to change, he heard someone coming. Hastily, he turned onto his side, hoping to hide his face should they see him. It was Hermione, Harry, and Ron. "Why did you have to come here?" the lass was asking.

"Madam Pomfrey wants me to come visit every few days to make sure my arm is all right," he heard Ron answer.

"I don't see her here," Harry commented. "Let's go before the coaches leave us behind. You can come back tomorrow."

James was almost completely a ferret, and sighed with relief at having not been noticed. That relief was short-lived. "What was that?" His sigh had been too loud. Soft footsteps came toward him, and the sheets were lifted just as his transformation had completed. "Oh! Hello again," Hermione smiled, picking him up. She was out of school uniform—it was Saturday—and her clothes were utterly foreign to him, with a strange, though not unpleasant feel under his paws. "Look who I found."

"Blimey, it's like that thing's _trying_ to find you."

_Quite the opposite, o ginger child,_ James thought as Harry reached out to scratch him behind the ears. _Avoidance is key._

"We should leave him in the Common Room where he'll be safe."

"We don't have time—the carriages are leaving," Harry said, leading them hurriedly down the hall. "Bring him with us."

And so, once again, the ferret was carried out of the Hospital Wing.

"Ronald Weasely?" Madam Pomfrey strode into the infirmary. "Is that your voice I hear?" But she was too late. The three were already hastening down the hall a floor below. Frowning that her patient had not been patient, she turned back. "Have you eaten yet, James?" she asked before she realized that the bed was empty. "Oh you! Getting into trouble again!" And, gathering her skirts, she trotted off to tell Dumbledore.

James, meanwhile, waited with trepidation as he was carried outside. There was a line of carriages, pulled by his friends the thestrals—he wondered why no one else seemed to be taking any notice of them—and the place was simply swarming with students, chattering excitedly. A school field trip? Nay, that could not be so. They were all much too happy to be looking forward to more schoolwork.

The three clambered into one of the black coaches. "So where to this time?" Harry asked several minutes later, when the procession began, leading off the grounds.

"Well, definitely to the Three Broomsticks for some butterbeer," Hermione replied, petting the poor ferret. "It's chillier out than we expected, and we could probably do with some warming up." The lads had to agree.

"Did you hear about that new shop?" Harry asked.

"New shop? The newest shop in Hogsmeade is fifty years old," Ron declared.

"Not this one."

_Hogsmeade, is that is?_ James thought to himself (not that there was anyone else to think to...) _The name tells me little, but all this talk of shopping leads me to think it must be some sort of marketplace._

"What kind of shop is it?" Hermione asked.

"I'm not sure. One person said it was a sweets shop, and someone else said it sold good luck charms. But the weirdest thing had got to be all the stories about the shop owner. No one knows where he's from, of when he got here, but one morning he was just there, asking the landlord for the rights to a shop. No prior warning."

Ron frowned. "Well what do we care about that for?"

Harry shrugged sheepishly. "I thought it might turn out to be important. I dunno—little things like that always seem to end up being important."

Hermione giggled. "That's absurd." Harry only shrugged.

"Now, about that butterbeer..." Ron changed the subject.

_Hmmm. It's far enough away that carriages are needed, it's unfamiliar territory, and I've seen that blonde demon child is coming along for the ride,_ James listed, counting off on his toes. _I think I'm stuck._

A while later, the coach ground to a halt. James peered out the window, perching on Hermione's shoulder for a better view. _It's a town_, he observed, seeing the small houses and shacks mingling with the shops. He heaved a sigh. _I've seen how they live, I've seen how they learn, I've seen how they treat ferrets. Now I get to see how they shop. Oh joy. Shopping. Will the adventures never cease?_

And so, they traversed the village, looking in at shops here, buying items from shops there, even stopping at a bar previously mentioned as the Three Broomsticks. The children sat at a table with their butterbeers. James sniffed his disapproval. _So young in a bar, drinking?_ But when Hermione passed the cup before his nose for him to smell, he found no scent of alcohol, and the smell itself made his mouth water. He followed the cup back to the table and, stretching up, stuck his nose in it and drank. The taste was extraordinary, and he felt warmth seeping through his little body, right down to his claws. _Ahhh._

"Oh that's gross," Harry and Ron were laughing. "Now he's got his fur and spit in it."

James was glad they were only joking and that he hadn't offended anybody. Hermione was giggling behind him, and she reached out to scratch him behind the ears. He looked around at the three, opened his mouth, and (very cutely, the authoress is obliged to add) belched. _Oh dear..._ But the three only laughed.

"Have you ever heard a ferret do that before?"

"No way. Bloody hell, that was brilliant."

"You're excused," Hermione grinned, wiping off his nose with her napkin. His mouth opened wide as he licked his chops, bright pink tongue standing out against his white-tawny fur.

Not long after, they left the tavern to visit that mysterious new shop before it was time to leave. From the outside, it looked like any other store. A bell on the door jingled as they entered, and once the door closed behind them, all the hustle and bustle and noise of outside was silenced. The four looked around in awe and wonder. Red walls met with white stone supports, stretching up into an elegant domed ceiling, a huge, shining chandelier hanging from its pinnacle. The room was circular, although the building had definitely been square, and very spacious, where it had looked cramped from the outside. Decorations and ornaments befitted the store with strange shapes, colours, and designs. Persian rugs and furs and other foreign things covered what James suspected to be a stone floor.

In the centre of the shop was a desk, flanked by a couple of cabinets and stacks of cages. The shop owner was nowhere to be seen. Around the walls were tables and desks, stacked high with cages, furs, and strange objects for which James had no name. Within all these cages were exotic animals, probably to be sold as pets. There were kneazles, colourful birds of all shapes and sizes, fancy rats with even fancier and curious markings, foxes, owls, hawks, even eagles. He could have sworn he saw a wolverine among the masses (which he only recognized from a zoo he had visited in the colonies), as well as a bear the size of a cat, and a miniature elephant. Monkeys screeched in welcome, swinging wildly back and forth in their cages. There were minks, crups, and yes, even ferrets.

There was only one other person already in the shoppe, who seemed to have come in only just before they had. "It was a sweets shop last time I was here," he said. Hermione, recognizing him, quickly shoved James toward Harry, who hid the ferret in his coat, just in time as Malfoy turned around and realized who he was talking to.

"So did you come here to buy some other poor animal to torture?"

"Well I would," the blonde sneered, "but that idiot shopkeeper isn't around." He gestured to the ferret cages. "Told you I got that ferret here."

"You just said it was a sweet shop last time you were here," Ron argued.

"No one asked you, Weasely."

Said redhead was on the verge of drawing his wand when a great bell sounded, summoning all the Hogwarts students back to their carriages. "It wasn't a ferret anyway," Malfoy shot over his shoulder. "Just a dirty half-breed." And the door closed behind him.

Indignation bit at Norrington. Half-breed?! He'd kill that little vermin. _Belay that,_ he scolded himself. _He is a child and you are not going to kill him. That is that. ...Although a little payback wouldn't be amiss..._

"A half-breed?" Harry asked, pulling the fuming weasel out of his jacket. Hermione took him and cradled him in her arms.

"Well he has green eyes, remember? Maybe there's something else in him that's not ferret."

"I wonder what it is," Potter replied, giving the ferret a brief scrutiny. "And I wonder how Malfoy could tell."

"I don't think it really matters. I'm just glad he didn't catch sight of him."

"Did it bite you, Harry?" Ron drawled. "Give you fleas?"

"No, Ron," he replied with a sigh. James puffed out his fur in annoyance. _Fleas? Have you not eyes, boy? And stop calling me 'it'!_

And so, the students went home to Hogwarts. It was evening now, and the bell for supper was ringing as the carriages came to a stop. Norrington attempted to make his escape whilst the three were distracted—several times, in fact—but there was always a hand to catch him. _And I can't even bite to make them let me go,_ he grieved. _How is this fair?_

At last, it was time for bed. The ferret began to feel hopeful. If he could just wait by the door until morning and then use the password to escape—no one would be in the Common Room at night; they'd be asleep. But it was not to be. Hermione brought him up to the girls' dormitory, and the door was closed and latched, and he had no chance. He could not dwell on this for very long, however, for he suddenly found himself surrounded by young women in various states of undress as they changed into nightgowns and pajamas.

_Why am I so embarrassed to see them? _I'm _the only one who's naked._

"You're sleeping with me tonight," Hermione told him cheerfully, climbing into bed and scooping him off the nightstand. She settled him beside her and pulled the covers over them as the lights were going out. To top it all off, she put her arm over him in an affectionate manner—and pinned him to the mattress.

Great.

James stayed awake a while longer, after all the girls were asleep and the room was still, frantically trying to think up a plan. Nothing came to him. The situation was bleak. At last, as it began to grow late, he listened to that voice in the back of his mind. _There's no way out, James. Go to sleep, so you're ready for it when it comes._ Heaving a sigh much too big for a creature so small, he lay his head down on the bed and stared out the window as he forced thought to flee his mind. There were mackerel scales and mares' tails crowding the sky, and his last conscious thought was that it would storm that night.

———————————

James' eyes blinked open with a bright flash of lightning—although the ensuing thunder was not nearly as impressive, being a mere rumbling in the distance—and it instantly registered in his mind that he was a man again. He almost felt relieved before he remembered his predicament. He was a naked man in bed with a teenaged girl in a room filled with slumbering young women, in the place where a ferret was expected. _Uh-oh_. Careful not to make any sudden movements, he lifted his head off the pillow to look out the window. (He was on his side with his back to Hermione, facing said window.) As he had predicted, a storm had broken. Dark clouds covered the sky and blocked the moon and stars. But dawn was still a few hours away. _Ah._ That must mean that the sky would remain overcast past dawn, and that the stars had 'set' when the storm had rolled in. That would explain why he had changed back already.

Maybe this was a good thing. He could find his way out now, instead of at dawn like he had originally planned. All he had to do was refrain from waking anyone. With almost no sound, he slid out of the bed, and crouched on the floor, listening for stirrings. He poked his head up. Hermione and the rest were still asleep. Good. Now his only dilemma was walking through the building completely naked. The thought filled him with dread, proper as he was, and he kept this in mind as he rose.

Carefully, carefully, he pulled the white sheets off Hermione. Her hand clenched at the hem, and for a moment he stood frozen, fearing he'd woken her. Gently, he reached up and uncurled her fist, pulling the sheets free. He did not expect her hand to close again, this time around his finger. He cursed himself for being so jumpy, and instead of startling, only pulled his finger from her grasp, amused at the workings of the sleeping, and proceeded to wrap himself in the sheet. With a small smile of satisfaction, he turned toward the door, at the same time intent on knotting the wrap at his waist.

Something moved. His head shot up, and he found himself only feet away from a young girl—just out of the privy—staring at him with a mixture of horror and bewilderment. He lifted his finger to his lips, but she only pointed at him and screamed. Damn! He was at the door in two steps; he swung it open and raced down the stairs. He could hear the other girls waking, and the same one yelling, "It's a man! The ferret is a man! I saw him change shape!" Damn!

He sensed the door to the boys' room flying open, but he didn't risk slowing down to look. He raced across the Common Room, cried out the password, "Wattlebird," and dove through the door almost before it had opened.

He sprinted down the hall as fast as his long legs would carry him—which was very fast—clutching the sheet about him with one hand. "Stop!" Harry's voice sounded behind him, and James knew he was being pursued. But he didn't slow down; if anything, he went faster. He heard the voice call again, but it was farther away, and over his own breathing, he could not hear what was said.

Something bit into his foot, and it felt as though a nail had gone into him. Damn! The toe-biting jinx again. Two more steps and it had tripped him up. He went head over heels and skidded ten feet to a stop, terrible rug burns all down his right side. He rolled onto his hands and knees, head bowed as he panted for breath. In half a moment, he saw feet appear beside him, and he knew that he was caught.

"Who are you?" Harry demanded, and Norrington realized his own hair was hiding his face. Maybe that girl hadn't known who he was either. He bowed his head lower, trying not to gag. Potter gave him a hard—though ineffective—kick in the ribs. "Then tell me what you were doing with Hermione."

"Trying to escape." Oh god, his stomach hurt. Just as badly as when Lupin gave him that potion.

"Escape from what?"

"That which I am facing at this very moment," he replied with resignation and irony.

"Show me your face." God, it hurt so much. He bowed his head lower again, biting down a cry of pain.

"Please—don't make me—." He felt a wand pressed against his temple. It scared him more than any knife or gun ever could.

"Show me who you are!" Beginning to shake from the pain, it was all James could do to look up and lock gazes with the boy. Harry's eyes widened and he backed off half a pace, withdrawing his wand. "Mr. Norrington."

"Don't tell her it was me. Don't tell anyone. _**Please**_."

"Why not? She trusted you. What's to stop me?"

"Besides a grown man begging at your feet? Please—Dumbledore doesn't want anyone to know, and neither do I."

"Well you have a funny way of showing it!"

"You think I _tried_ to get captured?" he surged to his feet. "You think I _wanted_ this? Every full moon, it's always 'try to avoid the trio' and 'get caught by the trio anyway' and 'get dragged around with the trio' and 'try to escape before someone finds me out.' It's like you're waiting to catch me, every month."

"Every month at the full moon—I thought you were an animegus."

"If by animegus you mean were-ferret, then yes, I'm an animegus."

"Then what if you'd bitten one of us!"

"You think I never thought about that?" His eyes blazed with anger as he glared down at the boy. He jammed a finger in the direction of the Common Room, where it sounded as though things were still in chaos. "Those girls are screaming because that was the only way I could get out. I couldn't bite to make her let me go. I almost got away, too, until that child realized she wasn't dreaming. I've been trying to avoid this from the beginning, but you three never gave me a chance."

"Then you should have told us!"

"Let me ask you something, child. Do you think it is _easy_ to make that sort of decision? Do you think it is _easy_ to be what I am? _Do_ you? Always afraid that someone will find out? Always afraid that society will shun you and you'll be left alone, never another soul out there who won't judge you as a monster? Imagine that for a moment," James said in a dangerous growl. "Stop pretending like you understand. You know nothing." And, in a huff, he turned and strode away, leaving a stunned and gaping Harry Potter. Once he'd rounded the corner, however, he leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. With the pain getting worse and worse, and all the stress and chaos of the night—his composure was coming apart with every passing moment, and as he heard Harry's retreating footsteps, he allowed himself, as quietly as he could, to do something he had not done since he was a child: he cried.

"Are you sure you weren't just dreaming, Sophie?" Hermione was asking the first year back in the Common Room.

"I thought I might have been when I saw him changing shape. That's why I went to the bathroom to wash my face. But when I came back, there he was, completely naked, stealing your sheets. I thought he'd done something horrible to you."

Hermione only laughed and hugged her young friend. "If he had, he'd be dead," she said reassuringly. Sophie smiled.

"Did you see who it was?" one of the boys asked.

"No. It was too dark."

"What did he look like?" asked a fifth year.

"Well, he was tall. Really tall. Broad shoulders. Lots of muscles, I think. And it looked like he had a beard. And his eyes were _so_ green—they almost glowed."

"He sounds handsome."

"Sounds like Sophie has a new boyfriend."

"I do not!"

The playful banter was interrupted by Harry's arrival. The Gryffindors crowded around him as he doubled over, panting. "Did you see 'im, Harry?"

"Who was it?"

"Was he as good-looking as Sophie said?"

Harry shook his head. "I didn't see anyone. I've been around the whole floor. Not a person in sight. I did see something curious, though, Hermione," he added with amusement. "Your ferret was running down the hall, dragging a bed-sheet after it. It must've had other ideas about how to spent the night."

"There, you see? No man."

"But he's an animegus or something. He changed shape again."

"Sophie, no animegus can change shape that fast," Harry lied. "Did anybody else see this man?" No one answered in the affirmative.

"Well...maybe I was still dreaming after all."

"Aw, Sophie!"

"Woke us up for nothing."

"Stop!" Hermione cried. "So Sophie made a mistake. We all do. What's important is to get over it. Now, nobody is going to tease her, right? Because if they do, they'll be just like a Slytherin. Right?"

"Right."

"All right, now that tha's settled, ev'ryone to bed," the prefects began to herd everyone toward their dorms.

"Harry," Hermione hissed , pulling him aside. "You're lying, aren't you?"

"No, Hermione. I really did see your ferret."

"Are you sure that's all it was? We haven't made Sophie feel bad for no reason?"

Harry shook his head. "That's all. Just a ferret tugging a sheet after it." He had never said so to James, but as he had stood there stunned, he had realized that it wasn't anger he had seen in the other man's eyes, but fear. For that observation alone, he had silently promised to tell as little as possible.

"Okay, Harry. Thanks for going after him anyway."

———————————

The professors were having a meeting in Dumbledore's office. Said meeting was concerning a certain troublemaking Muggle. Suddenly, the door burst open, and there stood the were-ferret in question, face stained with tears, red with stress, and blank with pain. If he knew there were others in the room, he gave no sign of it as he stumbled toward that box on the table. He fumbled with the latch and opened it, reaching in and slowly fishing out the bit of red leather that could have prevented this whole night from happening. He put it to his neck, and tried to strap it on, but his hands were shaking too violently.

Dumbledore rose from his seat and approached him. He took the collar from James, whose hands immediately dropped to his sides. The strap went through the buckle, and it was tightened around his throat. This was when he flinched and struggled, but Dumbledore pulled the leather the rest of the way through and it was finished.

It was a couple of moments before James had calmed enough to move, and he reached up shakily to touch the band, before meeting the headmaster's gaze. Instead of relief in the man's eyes, Albus saw only weariness and an out-of-place inconfidence and vulnerability. With only a grimace of pain and a hand going to his stomach, Norrington turned and walked back out of the room.

But that was only the beginning, for things were about to get worse.

* * *

So there you haves it. Good chapter, no? And, though it's late at night, it's still the full moon. Oh yeah! Sorry, too late at night to edit for typos, this chapter being as long as it is. I might consider it in a few months, though! Xp

Love it? Hate it? Kind of like it but there was something wrong about it? Tell me in your review!  
Also:

f r e e r i c e . c o m

It's a vocabulary game. For each word you get right, 20 grains of rice are donated to hungry countries. I've given about twenty thousand so far. How about you?


	14. Of Fears Unknown Part III

All right, all right, I know I missed last month, and I promised an update this month. I was going to update on the full moon, as promised, but with band camp and me being drum major, I kind of haven't thought about my stories at all. Not to say the chapter wasn't finished in time, of course it was. It's just, I was so ready to be lazy, even when I kept reminding myself to update, that I only accomplished two things: sleeping a lot, and watching Doctor Who on YouTube (David Tennant, I love you).

Reviews—had seven this time, been a while since this story got that many. Thanks to all, and especially **the idiot**, whose review makes me smile whenever I read it.

SO! Here's your chapter.

**I own nothing Pirates, Potter, or Doctor-related. (Although a little mini-TARDIS would be kinda cool right next to my Jack Sparrow action figure...)**

**Chapter Thirteen: Of Fears Unknown Part III**

The door to Hagrid's hut burst open. In an almost drunken manner, James staggered in. Fang greeted him most happily, but his enthusiasm was ignored. Hagrid was not here; he had been with the other professors in Dumbledore's office. James stumbled to the table, where his clothes lay. Without reaction, he noticed that a dark brown waistcoat had been added to the small pile, as well as a neat white neckerchief. He dressed, and found that the kerchief hid his collar with a perfectly inconspicuous appearance.

That done, and neglecting shoes and stockings, he shuffled back out into the storm. A flash of lightning illumined him in silhouette, and Fang whined apprehensively as he looked after the man, before the door shut with a quiet slam.

Outside, thunder and lightning greeted the distressed Muggle. The sky rained sheets of icy water down on him, and the wind shoved him about with a terrible force, nearly knocking him off his feet on more than one occasion. Within moments, he was soaked through, and would have been shivering violently had he been aware of it; but all he was aware of was his imminent banishment from the only place he had—Had Potter told? Had he caused too much trouble even for Dumbledore? He stumbled blindly through the rain, and into the Forbidden Forest.

After perhaps an hour, or perhaps more, he distantly heard Hagrid calling for him. The Gameskeeper must have returned to his hut and found Fang whining at the door. He ignored the summons and continued his wandering, moving further and further from things familiar, deeper into the woods.

A long time passed, and dawn came—or so we assume, for black storm clouds continued to shroud the world in darkness. James had been out in the storm all night, and the pain in his stomach, lungs, heart, and every other organ he could think of, had at last become too much to bear. Out of the mix of this and sheer exhaustion, he collapsed in the mud and leaf mold, and did not move again.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

"Have you found him yet, Hagrid?" Dumbledore asked that evening. The storm still raged outside, wind howling and biting rain lashing at the windowpane. "I had hoped to tell him how proud I am of him for deciding to put on that collar."

"I'm afraid not, sir. Haven't seen 'im all day. Gettin' worried, now. I'd go out and search for 'im if it wasn't for this nasty storm."

"And this nasty storm is precisely the reason why he must be found. Ironic, isn't it? But do not worry. When the rain is done, we will find him, Hagrid, I assure you."

The storm lasted for three nights and two days. On the morning of the third day, Hogwarts awoke to a steamy, misty world, overcast by a sea of grey clouds. Harry, Ron, and Hermione, bundled up against the cold, were following the familiar path to Hagrid's hut. Even before they arrived, they could see the gamekeeper outside, dressed in fur coats and trying to situate Fang on his leash and Chrystafi on his lead without them getting tangled. "Hi, Hagrid," Harry called. "Are you going somewhere?"

"Truth be told, I'm goin' out ter look fer James. 'E went missin' days ago, and 'e hasn't come back. Sorry I can't stay an' visit, but he could be in trouble, 'specially after that storm, and I aim ter find 'im."

The three exchanged expressions. "Could we help you look for him?" Hermione asked.

Hagrid opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again to rethink his answer. "Now you know I'd say you can't, but I think more eyes on the lookout will give us a better chance findin' 'im. But no matter what, we keep together, is that clear? Don't want to be losin' anyone else." And thus, huddled in a small group, they headed into the Forbidden Forest.

"All right, Ron," Hagrid said after a few minutes, "let Fang sniff around a bit—keep a hold on 'im now!" The huge boarhound eagerly put his nose to the ground, dragging poor Ron around as though he weren't there. But, try as they did, Fang could not find the familiar scent.

"It's no use, the rain's washed everything away," said Harry.

They scoured the woods for hours—the children were missing classes, and beginning to get frustrated. At last, Hagrid called their search to a halt. "'S no use. You all get back ter Hogwarts now, afore yeh miss anymore classes. Yer teachers will be cross enough as it is."

"I just wish we could find him," Harry sighed. He felt partially responsible, although he didn't quite know why. Everyone—even Fang—looked sad and disappointed. But not Chrystafi. He pricked his ears and stared intently into the trees, quivering. Then, without warning, he took off in that direction, pulling his lead free from Hagrid's grasp.

"Chrissie, come back!"

"Where's he going?"

"Maybe he's found something," Harry replied as they raced after the baby unicorn.

They ran a short distance before they saw Chrystafi, standing at the edge of a small clearing, nostrils flared to find any sign of his surrogate parent. "Is 'e here?"

"I don't see anything."

"What's that?" Hermione pointed at something poking out from behind a tree at the clearing's far edge. It was a foot. They rushed toward it to find a form half buried in the leaves, lying on its side, and only a shoulder, an arm, and the legs uncovered.

"James—dig 'im out, quick," Hagrid cried. The students hastily brushed away the mud and leaf mold, until at last James Norrington was uncovered. He was unconscious, soaked through, and looking altogether unwell.

Hermione at once kneeled beside him and attempted to rouse him. "Mr Norrington—Mr Norrington, please wake up..." His eyes fluttered for a moment, but that was all the response she got. At least they knew he was alive. "He won't come to."

Hagrid sighed. "All right, lads, pick 'im up. We're takin' 'im ter my place. Th' Hospital Wing's just too far."

Ron was all for levitating the man, but Harry insisted on carrying him, and as soon as they had him situated, he made a grave discovery. "Hagrid, he's burning up!"

"A fever? Oh, frightful bad, this is. You three keep an eye on 'im back at th' hut. I'll go find Madam Pomfrey." And with that, he raced off in another direction.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

"Easy, easy; okay, put him on the bed," Harry was instructing as they navigated through the door to the guest bedroom.

"I'll get a rag and some cold water," Hermione announced.

"Good idea. Ron, see if you can find some towels and blankets. I'll stay and keep watch."

It seemed ages before Hagrid came back with Madam Pomfrey and Dumbledore. "What are these students doing here? Should they not be at class?"

"Beggin' yer pardon, sir. They offered ter help, an' I thought it'd give James a better chance."

"Please, Professor," began Hermione, "couldn't we stay and help?"

"I am afraid not. You have already missed most of your morning classes; surely you are not asking me if you can miss your evening ones as well?"

"No, Professor Dumbledore."

"Very good. That is what I'd hoped you would say. However, you have my permission to come down and help out during meals and any free time."

"Thank you, Dumbledore.

"You are welcome, Miss Granger. Now hurry to class, before you miss more." The trio obeyed, with lingering glances as they emptied from the room. When the door had closed, Dumbledore approached the still form. Madam Pomfrey was already at his side, feeling his temperature. "How is he?"

"Not good, sir," she answered grimly, placing a wet rag on his forehead. "He has a terrible fever. How long was he out in the storm?"

"The whole time."

"Then he probably hasn't eaten at all, either. And I can't use any potions to heal him, because of the reaction he may have."

"Do you know any Muggle methods?"

"Sir, besides this rag and those blankets, I don't know anything."

Dumbledore nodded as though he had expected this. "I will see about finding you some help." James' head fell to one side, the rag sliding off. The headmaster replaced it, considering the man with a grim thoughtfulness. "Until then, do all you can." And with a small bow, he left.

Sighing, Madam Pomfrey dipped the rag in the bucket again. As though the cool dampness aroused him, his eyes blinked open. "You're awake."

Fevered green eyes slid to meet hers. No recognition sparked; it was like he was staring at a stranger. "Water," he croaked. "Please—so thirsty."

One of the students had left a glass of water on the bed table. She cradled his head and brought the vessel to his lips. "Easy now, not too fast." It was as though she weren't there. He tipped the cup farther back with his own hand—he still had the strength to do it—and drank greedily. When it was empty, he let it fall, where it shattered against the floor, and turned away from her, going straight back to his delirium.

Hours passed, and soon the dream overcame him. His sleep was fitful and his waking hours were spent mumbling and muttering to people who weren't there. "Set loose that tops'l. Look lively, men..." Most of these ramblings seemed to be orders given at sea. Others were half-conversations with familiars. Madam Pomfrey, who had been sitting with him all this time, could not help but sigh for him.

"You're back with your crew again," she murmured. "No more melancholy there."

Her words must have jinxed him.

* * *

All righty then, so there's your update. Don't expect much in the way of an on-schedule update. I'll try for it, but I don't think I've got my thoughts in order. You know, the whole "I know what I want to write but not how to write it" shpeal. Etc, etc...

REVIEW! Thanks.


	15. Persistent Storm

I meant to have this up about a week ago, but I never had the time to type it up. So now, I'm finally typing snippets in during the commercial breaks of Dancing With The Stars (Derek and Brooke have just done an amazing quickstep!) I will be very busy during the band season, so don't expect frequent/consistent updates.

Eight Reviews! That makes me very happy.

**Captain Rika Kitsuktai:** I share that obsession.

**the idiot:** But it's the parts that pull at your heartstrings that make it a good story, right?

**Anonymous:** Your wish is my command. This chapter is almost twice as long as the last one. And I thank you so much for your patience between updates.

**Disclaimer****: Don't sue me. I'm funny.**

**Chapter Fourteen: Persistent Storm**

The sun was shining. It was always shining. Why was it blazing away so brilliantly, so beautifully, on such a terrible morning? James bowed his head away from the glare, his hair falling over his face, and looked at his hands, which were bound at the wrists. Every other time he had been here, he had been watching from the opposite side. Back then, whenever the sun was shining on one of these days, he had taken it to mean that the world was being cleansed of one more germ—always a good thing; always the right thing; always his duty; always never happening to him.

He stood under the very arch where his promotion ceremony had begun. But instead of soldiers presenting arms lining his path, there was a crowd of people. All ages. There were few men, who had come from the town; all the rest were solitary women, with young children and teenagers. Many of them were sobbing, and he flinched away from their tears and shouting and accusations. It was to be public, then.

He was led through the crowds, which parted before him, surrounded on all sides by redcoats. "James Norrington," the crier began, "on the charges of allowing convicted pirate Jack Sparrow to escape a second time, and for the cruel slaughter of your own crew; two hundred and eighty-five faithful men dead at your hands, and one pirate ship still at large;" James bowed his head as he reached the platform, as the crowd roared their grief and rage, "you are hereby sentenced to death, and shall be hung by the neck until dead. May God have mercy upon your soul."

Heartbeat accelerating, he forced himself to look up, and nearly fainted at the sight of it: the long rope, seven turns in the knot, ending in the loop—except the loop was not made of rope. It was made of red leather. The collar was at the end of the noose, and the collar was what would kill him. That red loop of leather; not so harmless now. This was his punishment. The drums rolled. He was led to the trap door, and the collar fastened around his neck. Taking what he knew was the last thing he'd see, he gazed up at the sky.

The drumroll ceased.

The trapdoor fell.

His hand were clawing at his throat as he writhed, legs kicking out and such, too dangerous to get near. And that choking sound he made; oh such a sound! "Mr Norrington! Mr Norrington!" It burned, oh it burned!

Then, his eyes flew open and he bolted upright, panting for breath. It was some moments before he seemed to become aware of his surroundings, and his hands stopped wringing his neckerchief. All of it—so much had happened; could all of that possible have been just a dream? Thankful that he was alone, he leaned forward and tried to catch his breath, battling the flood of emotions and struggling against tears.

"It's okay, it was only a dream," came a voice. Startled, he jumped up from the bed, at the same time whirling around to face the offending voice that had invaded his privacy and witnessed his weakness. It was a girl—a mere child! And so strangely dressed. "Are you all right, Mr Norrington?"

She seemed vaguely familiar; she knew his name, too. He felt like he should know who she was, but he only drew a blank. He opened and closed his mouth several times with aborted attempts at speech, all the while regarding her guardedly. "Do forgive me for asking," he said at length, "but who are you? I feel as though I should know, and I am certain I would remember, if only—it seems my wits have deserted me in this heat. How do you stand there in so many layers in this weather?"

"It's winter out, Mr Norrington," the strange girl replied. "You have a fever." That was explanation in itself. "Perhaps you ought to sit down," she suggested when he put a hand to his head.

"Yes, perhaps I should do." He sank dizzily onto the mattress. The child brought him a glass of water and sat beside him.

"My name is Hermione Granger. You're in Hagrid's house at Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts, that's right," he murmured wearily.

"You went missing in the middle of a horrid storm; you were gone fore three days. Harry, Ron and I helped to look for you—we've been helping Madam Pomfrey heal you—but we'd never have found you if it weren't for Chrystafi."

"Chrystafi." And like that, it all came back to him. He blinked a few times and his mind cleared. "Miss Granger."

"Do you remember me now?"

"Yes." And this only seemed to make him unhappy.

Hermione shrank away at the way he looked at her, like he was searching or waiting for something to happen. "Are you all right?"

"I've come out of my delirium, so I must be getting better," he replied smoothly, all unwanted emotion pressed beneath its shell. "Is Potter here?"

"Yes. He, Ron, and Hagrid are having tea and cakes."

"Good. Send him in, if you please. I'd like a word with him."

"Yes, sir." And, strangely deflated, she went out of the room.

"Are you all right, Hermione?" Harry asked upon seeing her dejected expression.

"Mr. Norrington's woken up. He wants to talk to you." She sat in the vacant seat and poured herself a cup of tea.

He walked in to see the former-Commodore sitting at the foot of his bed, nursing his head. As soon as the door was closed, there came the mumbled question: "Does she know?"

"Does she know what?"

James looked up, and Harry sawr the unhealthy flush of his face and the fevered look in his eyes. Thus he was partially prepared for the man to surge toward him in a mix of anger and desperation and grab him by the arms. "What did you tell her? What did you say?"

"I told her the truth." A look of terror crossed the man's face, and he stumbled back a few paces, eyes darting around the room for a route of escape. "But not in the way you think! I told her I saw her ferret running down the hall. Well, I did. I just didn't tell her her ferret was a man."

Relief flooded through him. "So she doesn't know—she had no inkling. And what of the girl who saw me?"

"Thinks it was a dream."

He eased himself back onto the bed, sighing with relief. "Thank you."

"Just don't make a habit of it."

"No worries there," he replied, oddly subdued. "I'm hidden." He undid the neckerchief to reveal the collar. "I must wear it at all times so that I cannot forget to put it on. When I change, this will discourage the children from taking me as a pet."

"Doesn't it bother you?"

"Hmm?"

"What it says: 'Property of Severus Snape.' Doesn't that bother you?"

So that's what it said. "I no longer have a say," James replied casually, hand going back to his head. There was a long silence.

"Can I get you anything?"

"Food would be nice—no. Tea, if you please. Tea would be wonderful." He replaced the neckerchief.

"It might bring up your temperature again."

"It is going up again anyway. Besides that, I am experiencing chills. It will be good to warm up."

"Then I'll fetch some blankets while I'm at it."

"Thank you, Mr Potter. For everything."

——————————————————————————————

Time moved at a sluggish pace. A few days seemed like a few months. And James had no idea as to which was more correct, slipping in and out of delirium, stripped of any concept of time. The only thing that was constant was the dream. It came to him every time he closed his eyes; each time just as realistic. Every night he was hung, and every morning he awoke, panting for breath, the wretched collar seeming to burn at his neck, and his wits befuddled, startling whoever may have been sitting at his side. Even when awake, when sunken into delirium, the memories that returned to him were no longer peaceful.

At last, part way into the next week, his fever broke. And though he had eaten very little in all that time, the first thing he asked for was a bath.

_Ahhh..._ He sighed as he sank into the tub of steaming water. _Two weeks of dirt and stench. It wasn't the nightmares or the delirium that bothered me so much as my own filthiness._ Of course, his clothes were equally dirty, and so with only a towel and the ever-present neckerchief, he went out to the main room, following the enticing aroma of the meal that had been prepared for him. "You didn't have to go to all the trouble," he murmured upon seeing the feast, guilt prickling at his skin.

"S'no trouble, James," Hagrid replied. "We're jes' glad ter have yeh back."

He approached the table, his stomach growling and his mouth salivating, but halted beside the chair. "Is it all right for me to be eating all this? Should I be on any soup-and-pudding diet until I've regained my strength?"

"So long as you eat slowly, I see no harm," Madam Pomfrey replied, and James immediately flushed a bright red, a hand going to his towel as though to assure himself it was still there.

"Forgive me," he said at once. "Had I known you were here, I would have dressed. I'll go—."

"Now now, don't get your towel in a bunch. I'm here to give you a full check-over to make sure you are healthy again."

Norrington turned slowly to face Hagrid. "Is this what female doctors are for? To counteract the awkwardness women feel with male doctors?"

Rubeus smiled. "O'course! Now, 'ave a seat an' dig in!"

Returning the smile, James sank into the wooden chair and, somehow maintaining his etiquette, dignity, and a controlled gusto, set into his meal. Pomfrey sat down beside him with a listening instrument, which worked similarly to a stethoscope, her original intent being to listen to his heartbeat. Instead, she received an unpleasant surprise. "What's this, then?" she cried, touching the blistering skin on his arm. He startled at the touch and turned to meet her. "All down your arm—all down your side...it's on your leg, on your neck—even your cheek-bone, right here." Her fingers brushed lightly against the abrasion. "I'm surprised I never noticed. The skin is torn and blistered. What happened?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Rug burn."

"No rug burn is this severe!"

"I was sprinting as fast as I could, was tripped up, and skidded to a halt."

"This happened when you were tryin' ter escape th' Gryffindors, right?" He looked at Hagrid askance. "Snape 'eard a few girls talkin' about it like it'd been a dream 'r somethin'. We never did find out what happened."

James sighed, glancing at the unfinished meal, and turned in his seat. "I want you to know that I was completely powerless, and had very little choice in what went on." And with that, he set to explaining what had transpired, what seemed like ages ago. "...So Potter does know, yes; and thanks to him, everyone else thinks it was a dream."

"Dumbledore'll hafta hear about this," Hagrid sighed.

"Do you think he will send me away?" he asked distantly.

"Of course not," the large man cried. "Dumbledore'd never turn away someone in trouble, 'specially not someone from another realm."

For a moment, James looked confused. Then he seemed to remember. "That's right. I'm not from this world, am I?"

"That's right."

"Does it hurt?" asked Pomfrey, examining the burns.

"Very much, yes."

She looked up, startled. "Why haven't you said anything?"

He returned her gaze with an almost-confused look, as though he didn't understand her shock. "I've learned to ignore pain." He pointed out an old bullet wound in his side, and the numerous scars from swords, pikes, and whatever other weapons and dangers he had faced; even the old marks of floggings long ago that raised the skin on his back into small, crisscrossing ridges. "Pain is only an illusion, anyway. It can only stop one from doing something if one _allows_ it to. Now as far as _hunger_ goes... You'll have to excuse me. I have a week of catching up to do." And, amused at himself, he turned back to his food.

——————————————————————————————

After then, recovery was swift; the next day, he was deemed fit enough to return to his duties. Chrystafi was overjoyed to see him, and James was delighted at how much the tiny crystal horn had grown. Life seemed to become enjoyable again, and his smiles and good humour came more frequently and more freely.

The only thing that did not get better was that dream.

As it had plagued him every night while he had had his fever, so it did now. Every night, no matter how peaceful the day preceding had been, the nightmare always came. Often in the middle of the night, Chrystafi would wake, lift his head from the ball he always slept in, and cast a worried glance toward the bed, where James slept with brow furrowed and sweat streaming.

Other times he tossed and turned as he choked to death in his sleep, and would find himself being shaken awake by a very worried Hagrid. "Are you all right?" he would ask.

"Fine, fine," James panted, taking deep, precious breaths. "Just a dream."

"What kind of dream?"

"The annoying kind." And he would reach up and shift the collar that burned at his throat.

But this was not as bad as it got. Each night, the dreams seemed to become more and more real, until one night Hagrid was awoken by a _clunk!_ and a voice. He crept into the main room to see what was happening and saw James standing atop the table. Attached to his collar was an old leash, which went up, up, and was tied to one of the rafters. It was he who was speaking, in a strange, hollow and ghostly voice—and he was reciting his own death sentence. "And for the cruel slaughter for your own crew; two hundred and eighty-five faithful men dead at your hands; you are hereby sentenced to death, and shall be hung by the neck until dead. May God have mercy on your soul."

"James, no!" Before Hagrid could stop him, James stepped off the table and fell. The leash went taut for half a frightening moment, then snapped, and he dropped to the floor, eyes snapping open, gasping for breath.

"What—what happened?" he gasped, eyes darting around the room for signs of danger. "Are we under attack?"

"No, James," replied a perplexed and frightened Hagrid. "You just tried to kill yourself."

The roving green eyes snapped back to stare at him in dumb shock. "I beg your pardon?"

"You recited your own death sentence an' tried ter hang yerself. Th' leash broke."

"But—but that was only a dream." A frightened Chrystafi nudged his arm.

Hagrid shook his head. "Not anymore, it ain't."

* * *

So there you have it. Review please.


	16. Darkening Skies

Hey guys! Guess what? I'm on schedule! Look out that window—if you're on the east coast, it's full tonight! WOO! And guess what? I edited! It's a miracle!!

Oh god, TEN reviews! You have no idea how happy that makes me. I just hope I don't let you all down.

**Coffee and Twinkies:** As far as I can tell, I've been keeping to the formal speech as much as possible. The only times he's less careful about his words is when he's emotional or uncomfortable.

**The Idiot**(who really is not an idiot)**:** Thank you! That was such a loverly review.

**Anonymous:** The story is set about the fourth or fifth book, although all the characters from the third book are still present, and the main plotline of the series is nonexistent. Definately AU.

**Disclaimer****: Don't sue me; I'm incompetent!**

**Chapter Fifteen: Darkening Skies**

"Recall your dream for me, if you please, Mr Norrington," Dumbledore instructed. "Concentrate on that memory." They were standing alone in the headmaster's office. In front of them on a small pedestal was a marble basin. "Can you remember it clearly?"

"As clearly as daylight," James replied tersely.

"Good. Continue to remember it; I am going to take it out."

"You can remove my memories?"

"Not remove; merely put it into a form where we both can contemplate it. Concentrate, now." Forcing himself not to flinch as he felt the tip of Dumbledore's wand touching his temple, James did as he was told. Albus drew the wand away, and it felt as though he were pulling a large cobweb with it. Norrington opened his eyes to see a strange, silvery, liquid-like substance hanging from the wand; he stared at it in awe. So that was what a memory looked like. It fell into the basin and swirled around with a life of its own. "This is called a Pensieve, Mr Norrington. It allows us to walk through our memories, to see and observe things which are unclear to us by remembering alone."

"I could use one of these; it appears that some of my memories are beginning to fade," James confessed.

"That is to be expected. You have been away from your own realm for some months now, and as your life adjusts to fit in here, so will your mind. As it is, you still remember who you are, and that is all you will need, or else you will lose all ties to your realm and become a part of this one: your memories, your skills and experience; everything that has shaped you into the person you were when you first came here. Already you have changed since." These were grave words. "But such a process may take years to complete, and I have already begun to research the subject of travel between the realms. I have not found anything helpful as of yet—it is surprising how few sources recognise the existence of other worlds—but I am certain I shall find something before it is too late. Now let us look into your memory."

They looked into the basin, and James found himself in the fort at Port Royal once more, among that crowd. The bright, shining sun, the scaffolding, the noose; everything was, for obvious reasons, as he remembered. He was back in his dream, but was now watching from a different place. He looked over at Dumbledore, standing a few paces away, and suddenly wondered why he was not getting strange looks, for all his strange dress. Then he realised they couldn't see the wizard. With a sigh of relief, he knew they could not see him either; he remembered their anger very clearly.

Still, alarm shot through him when a great angry cry went up in the crowd. But they were not angry at him—well, not the _real_ him. He saw himself, dressed in a simple shirt and trousers, being led through the masses, flanked by marines on all sides. He saw himself shoved up to the gallows; heard his death sentence read out; saw the noose-collar fastened around his neck; heard the drumroll; and saw himself fall through the trap door to his death. To say the least, it was difficult to watch.

And then the world spun. Colours and shapes mashed together, and he found himself sent reeling backwards, in Dumbledore's office once more, panting for breath. He looked up to see the headmaster standing calmly beside the Pensieve, staring into the swirling memory with an unreadable expression. "Have you found what you were looking to find?" he dared to ask.

"I am not certain. I would like to continue studying your memory, if that is agreeable to you."

"Take it. I have plenty of others," came the dry answer. "Now, in a subject entirely unrelated, I would like to ask you: has Mr Hagrid at all spoken with you about the matters concerning—?"

"Yes, I have heard all about what young Mr Malfoy has done. So he was the one who cast the Cruciatus Curse back in the beginning. I am sorry to say that, although I find his behaviour decidedly unagreeable, I cannot punish him."

"Why ever not?" James cried, not with indignation, but surprise.

"Because as far as he knew, he was not bringing harm to a human being; he was only hurting a ferret. If he had been conscious of your humanity, I would most certainly expel him without another thought. But, as it is, his background and potential for dark magic are in such a state that I would like to keep him here, where I can keep my eye on him and ensure that his potential for good is nurtured."

"I—that's all right, actually. I understand." Although that didn't deaden his hatred toward the boy at all. "In the mean time, I doubt that these dreams will stop coming; and I doubt that I will stop attempting suicide in my sleep—perhaps tonight I will succeed."

"There is a definite possibility," the headmaster replied gravely. "I am afraid you will have to give up your residence at Hagrid's and sleep in the school, where someone can keep an eye on you. Perhaps a paralysis charm..."

James heaved a sigh. "Whatever works." As much as he hated the idea, it seemed like a sound plan, and perhaps the only possibility.

"Have you spoken to Mr Lupin yet since your first meeting?"

"No. After I got out of the infirmary, I never saw him. But I know he has a free period today, and I was thinking about going to talk to him. Apparently he has some things to teach me."

"Then I shan't keep you any longer. When you are ready to turn in for the night, report to the Hospital Wing."

"Aye-aye." And with a nod, he left.

"Hello, Mr Norrington," Lupin greeted him eagerly. "Glad to see you're feeling better. I was in to visit you, you know."

"I'm sorry I wasn't awake."

"You were. But it didn't make much of a difference. Being awake and being conscious are two different things. Now, I'd like to run a series of tests, if that's all right with you, about why potions and certain spells cause you pain."

"I was rather curious about that myself. Sometimes that pain comes back for no apparent reason, and I wonder why."

"Is Hagrid seasoning your meals with magical herbs again? I warned him of the effects it might have," Lupin fumed.

"No, no. He hasn't. But the pain does come back."

"Maybe the results of my tests will show the reason," the professor replied. "Now, have a seat, and let's begin." He ran his tests, taking skin, spit, and hair samples; having James drink certain potions that each served a specific, though different, purpose. "How are you feeling?"

"It hurts. But not as badly as the first." With strange instruments and devices he examined the man; listened to his heartbeat and lungs and bowels, looked in his eyes, ears, and throat, poked and prodded like a regular doctor. "Are you a medical man?"

"Not at all."

"Science?"

"That's Snape's department."

This worried him a little. "Then should you really be the one to run these tests?"

"I know what I'm doing, James. You're safe with me." There it was again. Every time Lupin said his name, there was something deep and meaningful behind it. His first thought made him a little nervous; but that didn't seem quite right, so he resolved not to worry. When the tests were done, Remus tossed him his pants. "You can get dressed now. Quickly, before my class comes."

"Aye-aye, sir."

"Come in and see me at the same time next week. The tests should be conclusive by then."

"That's the day before the full moon," James replied. "I will be vulnerable to it then."

"Good. Try not to change before you get here. I'd like to explore your half-form."

"Er—all right."

"Good man. I'll see you then."

"Good day." _I must be getting used to it_, he thought to himself as he walked back to Hagrid's to feed Chrystafi. _Lupin spoke of it all so lightly, and I wasn't bothered._ That wasn't the only thing he was getting used to. As he opened the door and the little unicorn greeted him, he looked around at the small house and sighed. This place felt like home. He was happy here, despite everything that was going wrong. It was as though he had never had any other life. _No_, he thought with a jolt that startled Chrystafi. _I mustn't think that or I will forget._

Even with his nightmares and his new, more restricted residence in the Hospital Wing, life went on as it had. He was happy in his waking hours, and safe with the thought that those dreams could no longer follow him into the waking world. He could not have been more mistaken.

Yes, life went on. The next week he returned to Lupin's office to experiment with the strange, misshapen form between man and ferret. "Fight, James! That's it." Once again, Lupin seemed to be amazed that he could halt the change midway. There had never been an account of such an ability, he said. "Are you in any pain now? Any at all." The creature shook its head. "Tremendous. But my question is why. Why can you stop the change when no one else can?"

_I feel like an ape_, James thought. _What's so special about that?_

That night, under the paralysis jinx as always, he dreamed again. He was sentenced to death and hanged, as always, and he woke from the nightmare without opening his eyes. These dreams didn't bother him any more; they were neither scary nor completely realistic. With his consciousness came the certainty of two things: one, that he was a man again, and two, that he was still paralyzed. But something about the restriction of the jinx did not feel right. It felt as though he were bound and chained. And that sound—those cries and the flutter of wings. His eyes flew open, and he met with a shock. Metal bands constricted around his body. He was hanging from some precipice or other, in a place that was definitely not the infirmary. The sounds he had heard were the birds. The crows and the scavengers fluttered around him, crying raucously. They nicked at his flesh, and with great fear, he saw one land on his face. It ripped out his right eye and flew away with it. The pain, fear, and confusion were too much to process, and through the chaos, he could not think. Worse, he could not scream. He was being eaten alive!

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Madam Pomfrey strode into the Hospital Wing shortly after dawn. She went to the back and into the private room where Norrington was. His eyes were open, so she knew he was awake. "Good morning, James," she greeted him. "Awake already, as always." Strange that his eyes weren't following her. Perhaps he was thinking. Humming to herself at the prospect of a peaceful morning, she fluffed up his pillows and removed the paralysis jinx. Immediately he opened his mouth and screamed, a bloodcurdling cry that woke the patients in the next room and echoed down the hallways. "James! What's wrong? What is it?"

"Get off—get off—," he pleaded, writhing on the bed as though fighting an invisible enemy. "Get away—damned creatures—don't—" Another shout of pain. "It hurts, it hurts." Tears streamed down his face. "My eyes—they've eaten out my eyes."

"James, your eyes are right in your head." She put a hand on his arm, but he yanked it away. "Can you hear me, James?"

"Stay away!" he cried, swatting at the air, eyes darting around ferally. "Help me—anyone, help me!"

"Can you even see me?" she asked more softly, already knowing the answer. "James, listen to me—you're safe! You're in the Hospital Wing! No one is trying to hurt you." She touched his face and tried to rouse him, but he brought up his arms to shield his face, and turned away from her, curling into a defensive ball.

"Please," he whispered shakily. "God spare me..." There were a few moments of blessed silence before the birds and the rats came back. "No—no, no, get away—get away—it hurts—" And again he screamed; cries filled with pain, terror, and anguish.

"What is going on here? What's that idiot doing?" demanded Snape as he strode into the room. "I heard him screaming another floor down."

"I don't know what's wrong with him. It's like he's somewhere else, and something terrible is happening to him—as though he's being eaten alive!"

"He is having some sort of waking dream."

"But how can he wake up from it if he's already awake?"

"He can't. But I can." The Potions Master drew his wand and pressed the tip against the man's forehead. "_Agito Excito_." James ceased his writhing with a strained grunt, pupils contracting, and with a soft moan, was released from his terrible visions. Snape removed his wand, a strand of silver memory coming with it. The man let out a breath, eyes sweeping around the room. "Dumbledore will want to see these," Snape murmured, putting the memory into an empty vial.

"I can see," Norrington stuttered. "But I felt it. I _felt_ them being eaten out." His brief calm was interrupted by panic. "And before that, I _saw_ them. I was in a gibbet, being eaten alive. I _saw_ the gibbet. I _felt_ it! Dear God, please tell me I won't be living through that over and over again!"

"James, it wasn't real."

"But I _saw_ it! I _felt_ it!"

"It was nothing more than a hallucination," Snape snapped. Strangely, his indifference seemed to calm the patient a little. "Regardless, I am reporting this to the Headmaster. I suspect you are the victim of some magical malady against which Muggles like you have little defense; no doubt Dumbledore will have theories of his own. Keep him here, and don't let him get worse," he ordered Pomfrey, before gliding out of the room.

She turned back to her patient, who was still panting for breath, feeling at his eyes as though to reassure himself that they were still there. "They can't hurt you, James."

"Oh yes?" he countered shakily, "Then why am I bleeding? Why are these tears made of blood?"

"What!" His fingers were coated with it, where he had wiped the tears away, and his face was stained with red. "Where else are you bleeding?" She tore away the sheets to reveal him. There was no other blood, although to say there was nothing else would be a mistruth, for there were ugly bruises, dark and painful that looked like rips and tears in the flesh. The same could be said for his eyes. Two black eyes. "What could be doing this to you?" she breathed.

"It's the collar. This all started with the collar." He reached up to wring at the neckerchief. "Ever since I put it on I've been in Hell. I cannot wear it anymore—I _can't_."

"James, you're in the middle of your full-moon phase. Now is the time when you need it most."

He put his face in his hands, then suddenly looked up, looking ponderous and suspicious. "That is very odd."

"What is?"

"I've... I have lost all confidence and fortitude. In my former life, I would not have been so weak. But now—."

"Now you don't need to put a mask over your fears and emotions." His eyes darted to hers, green gaze filled with uncertainty. "You hid back then. You hid from yourself. But now you are coming to terms with who you really are."

"I never hid from myself," he retorted with a touch of his old self. "And it is not who I am; it is whom I am becoming."

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So there you have it! Review please!


	17. To Be Feared Part II

On this night, the moon is the biggest and the closest it has been in 23 years. And it is full. And I typed this up while watching Narnia. Woot.

Hmm. Nine reviews for chapter 14, but only three for chapter 15. Ah well. Holidays and all.

Enjoy the chapter—and the big lovely moon, too!

**Chapter Sixteen: To Be Feared, Part II**

"Well aren't you just the cutest thing! What are you doing roaming the hallway like this?"

_Pick me up and you lose a finger._

The threat was ignored, and he was swept up. "Oh a collar. Someone must be missing you. Whose—?" The name on the plate silenced her, and she put him down without another word and hurried away.

_These children feel the same way as I do. At least this accursed piece of leather is serving its purpose. If only that were _all _it did._

"Hello there, cutie!"

Sigh. _Not again,_ he thought despairingly as he was scooped up. _Handled by strange girls. Every time._

"Oh you're so soft."

_Behind the ears—right there. Ahh._

"You're Snape's, ey? I feel sorry for you."

_The sentiment is mutual. Now be a good lass and put me down._

"I'd better bring you to him before something happens to you."

_Down. Now._ His orders were ignored, and, sighing, he was carried away.

Snape looked up from grading papers as the girl entered. "Sorry to bother you, sir, I know you are probably busy and I don't mean to disturb you or—."

"I'm busy enough, Miss Arietta, that your incoherent babbling is wasting my time. Stop standing there and make your point."

"I found this ferret in the hall, sir, and its collar had your name on it, so I though I should bring it back to you before something happened to it, sir."

Snape stared at the girl for a moment, merely to intimidate her. "Then put him on the desk before my time withers to nothing."

"Yessir," and with uncertainty, she turned to leave.

"Five points to Hufflepuff," he announced as she went through the door. "And _you_," he murmured to the ferret without looking up from his papers, "are more trouble than you're worth. You could not stay away from those girls for three days, can you?"

_It is no fault of mine that I've been cursed with irresistible charm and good looks._ He startled himself. _No, no, James, now you are beginning to sound like S—. S—._ The name was gone. He could picture the pirate perfectly in his head, cheeky and unstable as always—but he could not remember the man's name. It started with an S... _My, I really am losing my memories. I wonder how long until I forget Groves—or Elizabeth._

"I expect you are wondering why my name is inscribed on your collarplate." The ferret roused from his thoughts to look up at him. "I had nothing to do with that decision, I'll have you know. Dumbledore chose it because he felt my classroom was the best hiding place. As though this is all one big game of hide-and-find."

_Don't like games? Or are you too busy being bleak?_

"Because my room receives very few visitors, and those who do come here do not dare to look where they should not, Dumbledore suspects that it will be the place where you are least likely to be noticed; and thus you will be safest here when you change your shape."

_Wonderful. So if I am hidden away in here, what is the point of the collar?_

"As long as you're wearing that collar, impulsive children will not take you for theirs. They will either leave you be, or bring you here where you can hide yourself in otherwise plain sight."

James startled. _Did he just hear my thoughts?_

"Unless you want a repeat of your Gryffindor incident?" The ferret shook its head. "I thought not. Now stay out of trouble and don't touch anything. I have got better things to do than babysit a ferret."

For some reason, James was compelled to laugh. Perhaps it was because Snape thought that grading papers really wasn't much better than babysitting—the man was making a joke. Why this seemed like such a monumental discovery he couldn't justify, but he felt safer now that he understood one more aspect of his captor's character—all that sarcasm and sardonicism was merely the man's way of laughing at life—and he curled up for a nap without any sense of danger.

When he awoke, he heard the semi-familiar buzz of a class going on, and sat up to find that a pile of books had been placed in front of him, as though to shield him from unnecessary attention while he slept. How thoughtful—surprisingly so. He rolled to his feet, shook his fur flat, and set to grooming—the tenuous task performed solely by the mouth, and supremely unappetizing. Luckily, there was a saucer of tea nearby that had been left for him. He stared at it a moment. Why was Snape being so considerate? _He must want something_, he thought. _That, or he wants to keep me from asking for anything—as though I were able._ An image flashed in James' mind, of Snape telling him he just didn't want to have a whiney ferret to provide for, and somehow, that thought amused him.

He yawned again. _That was the best sleep I have had in ages._ And this thought surprised him enough to squeak: he had not dreamed! _Oh thank God. Perhaps it has finally passed._

For the first time, the days of the full moon passed without incident, and James was back at his duties without a worry. The dreams of his hanging had at last ceased, but the hallucinations of the gibbet increased, each time as horrible as the last. The strange tears in his flesh continued to appear, and he became virtually colourblind, only able to see in reds and blacks because of the blood constantly bathing his eyes. Coming into contact with students became a rarity, and even the staff did not see him often. The only people to see him regularly were Hagrid and Madam Pomfrey, Dumbledore, and Snape and Lupin, who had both taken an interest in his condition and were hard at work studying and researching possible causes.

After little more than a week, the waking dreams suddenly ceased. "Surely it was a work of the Dark Arts," offered a fascinated Lupin.

"That cannot be the case," rebutted Snape. "He has recovered from a magical malady that a Muggle's body is ill equipped to ward off."

"How then did he recover, if he is so 'ill equipped'?"

"Who would cast enchantment upon him, then?"

They could not find the answers.

James, however, was not remotely interested in the cause of the dreams. He was only glad they had gone. "Can you see again?" Madam Pomfrey asked him as she examined his body for the strange bruises like torn flesh.

"Everything is still tinted red—I am sure that plant there is green, but to me it seems nearly black. But it has been improving—more and more each day."

Days later, he saw his first colours in the better part of a month, and as he strode down the path toward Hagrid's, he smiled as he looked around at the land—although much of it was covered with snow—appreciating the sparkling white that was no longer the colour of spilt blood.

A shadow crossed over him, and he looked up, expecting to glimpse a winter bird. He saw nothing. The shadow was still there, however. He felt a sting in one ear, as though he had been bitten. Startled, he touched said ear, and found it bleeding. Again he looked up for the source of the shadow, that fear, which only days ago he thought he had escaped, tingling up his spine. And there circling above him was the black shape of a carrion bird. "Not again," he gasped. "Not again!" Shielding his head with his arms, he hurried the rest of the way.

"What's th' matter, James?" Hagrid asked when he saw him. "Yer bleedin'!"

"They're back," he panted, taking the proffered cloth and wiping away the blood. "The birds are back. And this time, they are real."

"They never were real, sir, you know that."

"They must be. Explain the blood."

"We should find Dumbledore." In haste, they trudged back through the snow.

"I do not suppose that a coat would be too much to ask for, would it?" Norrington asked, partly to refocus his mind and partially because of the difficulty he was having keeping his teeth from chattering.

"O' course not! Ye might've asked sooner," the Gameskeeper chided. "Surprised ye held out this long."

"We never had this much snow until now. What is it, February?"

"Middling January. February's worse."

James sighed. "My occupation in the tropics has left me ill equipped to face the rest of the world."

Hagrid laughed. "I'm off ter Hogsmeade termorrow. You come with me and we'll get you at coat. Consider it a late Christmas present." James barely had time to look grateful before he jerked to one side as though he had been hit. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Can you not see them?!" the man cried as he dodged another attack, fists raised to defend himself. "The birds have come. See their shadows."

It was true. Half a dozen shadows were swarming at his feet—but their sources were nonexistent. They were cast by nothing, and there was no evidence of any object—no sounds, no smells—nothing but the former-commodore's reaxion. Hagrid watched helplessly as the man battled the imaginary creatures. Muttering apologies, he wrested the man away from his presumed fight and forced him to walk the rest of the way to the castle.

"What are you doing—get your hands off of me. They are still there!"

"Let 'em go, James."

"Let them go to pick out my eyes? Oh that I had my sword! They will die before they get the chance!" he declared.

"Th' question is whether somethin' like that can kill 'em, James."

"You think I am daft," Norrington understood, massaging the knuckles of his right hand which was bleeding from another bite. "Perhaps I am," he conceded softly, and was silent the rest of the way to the Headmaster's office.

Once there, after the situation had been explained, Lupin and Snape were sent for. "This had better be good," growled the latter. "My students are in the middle of making very volatile potions. I would hate to miss another explosion." James chuckled to himself, the only one to catch the sarcasm.

"I assure you, Severus, it is of utmost importance," replied Dumbledore. "Another link in the chain of mysteries ensnaring Mr Norrington."

"The Dark Arts!" cried Lupin when everything had been explained. "I do not know who would cast upon you, James, but living nightmares with real effects—such as your bloody knuckles from imaginary birds—can only be the work of the Dark arts. It's only a matter of finding who."

"Until then, I shall continue to blame this collar. This all began when I received it."

"It is not possible. No one could have enchanted it without knowing it existed," Snape argued.

"Perhaps we should not rule out that possibility," suggested Dumbledore.

"I will look into it," Lupin promised eagerly. "After your moon cycle is over next week, I will be ready to take that collar off of your hands."

The birds did not stop coming, however. Days passed, and norrington had taken to keeping his sword with him at all times. He surprised Hagrid one day when he suddenly drew the weapon, with no warning, and slashed at the air. "Missed," he hissed. "Although I managed to scare them off."

"I don't think a sword'll do much good against imaginary enemies, James."

"Their effect on me is real. Why should it not be the same if we exchange roles?" There was no convincing him. As time passed, he grew more and more paranoid, always looking over his shoulder or scanning the skies, his hand never leaving the hilt of his sword unless he needed said hand when he worked. Soon he could not separate real birds from imaginary ones. Everything that flew was a suspect.

As such, when a shadow fell over him not much later, he drew his sword with an almost eager readiness, and held it at the ready as the white-grey shape glided toward him. Closer, closer—he would catch this one, he could feel it—he swung with confidence.

"EXPELLIARMUS!!"

He was thrown back by an invisible force, his sword flying out of his grasp. Without stopping to question what had happened—the bird was still coming, that was all that mattered—James somersaulted backwards to his feet, looking around for the blade. The bird came nearer, swooped to attack. Buried in the snow! Acting out of instinct alone, he shrank into the snow, shielding his head with his arms. "Hedwig!" It changed its course. The carrion bird circled placidly and glided to perch on its master's arm. "Mr Norrington—er, are you all right?"

James slowly rose, eyes warily scanning the sky. "I am not sure." He carefully claimed his sword from the snow, then turned to face the voice. Harry Potter stared back. But it was not the boy he saw. It was the bird. "Do not move," he warned quietly, raising his sword to attack. "It will kill, given the chance."

He only faltered when the boy pointed a wand at him. "Put the sword away, Mr Norrington, I'm warning you."

"And let the beast free to tear at human flesh? Nevah."

"She's an _owl_, Mr Norrington. She wouldn't hurt anyone."

James stared at the bird, rubbed at his eyes, and stared again. The forbidding shape of the carrion bird was replaced by the soft-feathered barn owl. "An owl," he repeated wretchedly, in a mix of anguish and hilarity. "This world despises me, it does." To the lad's relief, he slid the sword back into its sheath.

"What's wrong?" he asked, lowering the wand. "What's happened to you?"

"I—I think I have gone made," came an astonished reply. "Yes. Quite so. I am seeing things that are not as they are. Paranoia reigns tyrant. My apologies, Mr Potter and Hedwig. I am not myself." _And I do not think I ever shall be,_ he added silently. They continued in silence to Hagrid's hut. Once back in the warmth, he slid off his navy frock and set it on the hook. His hand had not left it when he saw the other children already at the table. Had they been here this entire time? Almost in one motion, he had taken his coat back off the hook and swung it on.

"Where yeh goin'?" asked Hagrid.

"Firewood." Hagrid was about to reply that they already had more than enough, casting a glance at the bulking supply next to the fireplace; but the man had already fled the hut.

"Is he all right?" asked Hermione.

"I don't think he is," replied Harry.

"How d'yah mean?"

Harry watched the man chopping wood through the window, tension clear in every movement he made. "He tried to kill Hedwig."

"Blimey. Mental, that one," snubbed Weasely.

"He says he's seeing things that aren't there. He thought Hedwig was going to eat him—he thinks he's gone mad."

"We should help him," Hermione replied with a look of horror on her face.

"Maybe we can't/ maybe he really is going mad."

Out in the cold, James was thinking much the same thing. He was thinking how he should have died in his own Realm and been done with it. The wonders of a new world were not worth all of this. _All this world has done is turned me into a beast, and now it has driven me to act like one,_ he thought to himself. _And given me a home_, his conscience added softly. Grinding his teeth, he raised the axe again—and as he did, a sharp pain caught against his ribs. He paused. It could not stop him from continuing. He raised it again, and nearly fainted from the pain that suddenly hit him. The axe fell from his hands, and he collapsed, barely able to move, clutching at his stomach where there burned a pain that rivaled any caused by Lupin's potion.

Inside, Chrystafi's ears pricked, and he raced to the door, pawing at it excitedly with his hoof. "What is it?" asked Ron.

"Something's wrong." harry looked out the window and saw the motionless form on the ground. "Hagrid!"

Hagrid joined him at the window. "James!" And he rushed outside, Chrystafi and the trio at his heels. He stooped by the fallen man, who continued to clutch his stomach and grit his teeth in a grimace of pain. "What's wrong?"

"It—." A gasp silenced his words. It hurt worse to talk. As his eyes began to water, he squeezed them shut. "It hurts," he whispered, every word a struggle. "Pain I cannot ignore."

* * *

And there ends the chapter. Can anyone guess what is going on? Submit all guesses in your reviews, if you please.


	18. James

Happy full moon! The Eagles just won. Woo, onward to the championships (and hopefully the Super Bowl! Woot!) I just got back from the mountains, and I'm a little -wooo- so if there are any typoes, please bear with me while I put off editing to catch up on my sleep. I don't think it's bad though...

**Little Miss Sparrow:** I'm glad my writing can have that sort of effect on you. It's entertaining when that happens. =D

**Captain Rika Kisuktai:** Actually, I always imagined them crows or ravens, like at the Turkish prison in the beginning of Dead Man's Chest—but vultures work too! Did you know that bald eagles are just pretty vultures? They eat the same crap. :O

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen: James**

Hagrid put a hand on the man's shoulder, about to lift him and carry him to the infirmary (again), but at the sharp intake of breath, he resolved that his friend could not be moved. "'Arry, Ron, get ter th' 'Ospital wing an' fetch Madam Pomfrey. Don't dally now." They raced off. "Hermione, grab some blankets. We can't move 'im, so we need ter keep 'im warm." Using the firewood James had only moments ago been chopping, Hagrid himself started up a fire. Chrystafi curled up beside his surrogate, not quite touching him, but near enough to lend his warmth.

After then, James ceased to be aware of what went on around him. He focused on his breathing, on his heartbeat, on the sounds of the crackling fire—anything to get his mind off the pain. But he found little relief, and at one point he must have blacked out, for when his awareness floated back to consciousness, he found himself in a cot in the infirmary, alone in the silent hall. The pain was, inexplicably, gone. Had he been dosed with pain killers? That might explain the drowsiness. No. That wasn't drowsiness, at least not anymore. He was exhausted. With a great effort, he sat up. There was still a dull pain in his stomach, and he was surprised to find how weak he felt.

"James, you're awake," said a relieved Pomfrey as she entered the room some time later. "You gave us all such a fright."

"What happened?" he asked slowly. "What is wrong with me?"

"Bless you, lad," was all she said as she placed a tray of food in his lap. He did not eat, only looked at her, waiting for an answer. She sighed. "We don't know," she replied softly.

"Will we ever?"

"Soon, if Dumbledore can help it. How are you feeling?"

"How long have I been unconscious?"

"A few hours, dear."

"I feel as though it had been weeks. And I am not hungry," he added before she could insist. "Were I to eat, I would only empty my stomach of it."

She put her hand on his arm. "Once we find out what is wrong, we will be doing everything we can to make you better," she promised. "You look exhausted. Get some rest." Taking away the food, and with is the nausea, she left him to the peace and silence of the empty Hospital Wing. With a sigh, he closed his eyes and was asleep almost instantly.

———————————————————————————————————————

_He wandered through the grey fog, unable to see what lay before him. A cry of anguish echoed surreally about the mysterious land. Someone needed him. He continued through the fog, unsure of his next step, confused by the echoes and uncertain if he was going in the correct direction. Another cry rang out. But the fog was too thick. He could not see beyond a couple of feet in front of him; he could not see his feet, nor whether there was solid ground before him. Still he wandered. Then from behind him came a sound, very faint, but growing into a deep rumble, nearer and louder, a great thunder, then very clearly, a great bellowing laughter, reverberating all around him—sinister laughter that reminded one of a savage predator having caught its defenseless prey. Very faint did the cries of anguish seem in comparison to the booming evil laughter. He sensed a presence, a powerful, deadly presence, growing nearer, nearer, overtaking him. He whirled around to face it, but saw only fog. But the darkness did not halt. The fog began to clear to reveal the evil._

His eyes snapped open, and he saw them, diving for him. He barely managed to roll out of the way in time. Crying out in pain, though ignoring it, he grabbed his sword off the night table and swung it at them. He caught the first—it fell to the floor, dead—but as he swung at the second, it suddenly vanished without a trace. He looked up, panting, to see Dumbledore, wand raised. "Did you—did you see it?"

"I pointed only at a shadow on the wall," the elderly wizard replied.

"Dear me!" cried Pomfrey—she, Lupin, and another man James did not recognize, had entered with the headmaster. "What is that on the floor?"

Lupin sprang forward eagerly to examine the body of the raven. "Ah. You caught this one, I see."

Norrington looked from the small cadaver to the nurse and headmaster. "Still think they are not real?"

Lupin laughed. "They are not, but your effect on them was as real as theirs on you. You've proven a very important point, and driven us one step closer to discovering just what is ailing you. I'll take this for study immediately. This is good, James. Very good." And, taking his trophy, he hurried out of the infirmary.

James stared after him until he was gone, then turned to the as yet unidentified man sanding beside Pomfrey. He was dressed all in black, and had buckled on his shoes. A doctor, it seemed, from the same era as James. "And you?"

"This is Doctor Wight. He is a Muggle doctor from the late eighteenth century, whom I have called out of his time to see to your pains."

"If they are product of dark magic, what good will a Muggle doctor do?"

"I do not think they are related, Mr Norrington, at least not directly."

"Right. So you're Norrington. I've heard a lot about you." The doctor set down his bag beside the bed.

"Such as what?" he asked with suspicion.

"Begging your pardon, sir, I meant your condition. The madam has told me much about it. Let's have a look at you, shall we?" He took out his instruments and began by listening to his heart and breathing. "Breathe in."

James asked a silent question over the man's shoulder. "He is under enchantment," Dumbledore explained quietly. "He believes he is making a house-call."

"And again...Once more...Very good." Wight examined his eyes and everything else typical of an average checkup. "The Madam said the pain was most concentrated in your stomach, is that correct?"

"Yes, I suppose it is."

"Very well. Lie down, if you please." The doctor pushed up James' shirt to reveal his (finely-chiseled) stomach. "The Madam also mentioned that you have a very high tolerance for pain. Am I therefore to assume that any pain you were to express would in actuality be hurting you much more than it appears?"

"It would make a wise assumption."

"Very well, we shall begin. Tell me when something hurts." He began a slow, meticulous massage of the exposed abdomen. Not so much the kidneys. Non, not the actual stomach, either. But when the poking and prodding hit the intestines, James gave an involuntary gasp of pain. Wight made a note of this and went on. Not the bladder. Not the liver, nor the appendix, not whatever other organs were in there. To be entirely truthful, **no** place was without pain. Everything hurt. But none so intensely as the intestines. "You have colitis," the doctor deduced.

James turned his eyes to the ceiling with a sigh. "Colitis is for the weak."

"Colitis," Wight corrected him, "is for those under a great deal of stress. And judging from what I have heard of your character and your constitution, Mr Norrington, the amount of stress being put upon you must be enormous for it to be having this sort of effect on you."

"Where does stress come into this?"

"It is a stress-induced disease, Mr Norrington. Perhaps you are not under any stress at the moment," not true!, "but it is a long-term effect. Stress from months ago could contribute to what is happening to you now."

"Is there a cure?"

"I am afraid not, except for the occasional chance that it will resolve itself."

A muscle tightened in his jaw. "What is the treatment?"

"Early retirement." This met a dangerous glare. Wight sighed. "I suppose you are a man who is not swayed by a debilitatingly painful condition."

"Another wise assumption."

Wight sighed again. "Laudanum. Once in the morning, and a double-dose at night to help you sleep. When the pain flared again, take it as needed." He wrote up the prescription and handed it to him. "And I suppose imploring you to stay abed for a few days would be a useless effort?"

Norrington gave him a withering look like he was about to agree, but then softened his expression. "I suppose I can spare a couple of days," he conceded. After all, this evening he would become a ferret. Supposing nothing happened, the most activity he would get was tea time.

"Very good, sir. I shall return in a week to judge the effect." He took a bottle out of his bag.

"I wont be needing that."

"But you just said—."

"I said I would rest. I did not agree to the laudanum." He turned to Pomfrey. "The pain killers will suffice."

"I doubt that," retorted the doctor. "You had already been dosed before I arrived, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"And yet you were still experiencing extreme discomfort. Mr Norrington, I don't doubt that these 'pain killers' of yours are having an effect, but they may not be enough. How much stress has he been under lately?"

"More than any man should," sighed Pomfrey, ever like the caring mother.

James gritted his teeth as Wight clunked the bottle on the night stand. "You're going to want that. Good day, Mr Norrington. I hope you will consider the treatment I prescribe." And, closing his bag, Dr Wight took his leave.

James looked after him with furrowed brow, wondering where he thought he was going. "He will be taken back to his own time," Dumbledore explained as the doors swung closed. "Now James," he continued, "I must ask why you are averse to Dr Wight's treatment."

"I suppose you don't know what laudanum is." Norrington shook his head at the irony that he knew something this wizard apparently did not. "Opium." The magic fold seemed to recognize that—Pomfrey suddenly looked rather concerned. "Laudanum is an alcoholic preparation of opium. It is the only treatment for colitis where I come from—for most pain whatsoever, as it were—and it is one of the nastiest drinks I know of."

"Is it disagreeable to the taste?" asked the nurse.

He laughed. "No, no. I've been told it tastes like candy. No, the taste is not what makes it unfavourable. I have seen laudanum in action—on ships, in hospitals. An acquaintance of mine was dealt a similar blow, and the doctors all prescribed laudanum. Even those who had never known of his illness knew he was taking it. Every time I was over to visit him, his hands shook as he carved the meat—if he ever did—and when he lit the candles. He never again seemed quite the same man I had once admired." He paused, reminiscing. "A very dear friend of mine is—was, I suppose—badly addicted to it. He went through two of three bottles a week—I know that does not seem like much, given the size of the bottle, but tincture is potent. A mere taste is enough to have an effect. A scant few sips will dull your mind and your senses to the pain, discomfort, and the world around you." He sighed. "I do not care about pain I may feel in spite of the medicine I already take: I am not drinking tincture of opium."

"But James—," the nurse started.

"Mr Norrington has made a very wise decision, I think," Dumbledore interrupted. "The Muggle medicine will make the pain bearable—a little pain is better than dependency upon this laudanum."

"Thank you, sir."

"You are, however, planning to keep that promise to stay abed?"

Before James could answer or argue—we shall never know which—a jolt went through him, and his head snapped toward the window. Had the moon come out already? A hand went to his throat to reassure him that the collar was in place, and with an apologetic look at the headmaster, he changed his shape. _Abed in Snape's room, I suppose_, he thought as he struggled out of his giant clothing, a ferret once more. He shook himself and looked up at them.

"I shall deliver you to Snape myself," offered Albus. "He and Lupin will need to know that your colitis is not a symptom of whatever enchantment plagues you."

_The more they know about it, the sooner it can be taken care of._

"I do hope," the Headmaster said as they walked through the halls, "that you can spare yourself the excitement this month."

_Oy, that's nice, isn't it? Nothing happened _last _month, and yet you scold me_. The ferret sighed. _Although I suppose my history is against me here._

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"Dumbledore said you were diseased," Snape said to the ferret in the quiet time between classes. "Which, according to what he described, makes you a complete and total invalid."

_You don't need to put it like that,_ James thought, hanging his head dejectedly. _I feel bad enough as it is._

"Oh don't pity yourself," grumbled the Potions master. "You look pitiful enough as it is without trying to look it further." The ferret only heaved a sigh. "What happened to 'the great Commodore from a distant land'?"

_Oh don't you start._

"Since coming here, you have survived becoming a were-ferret, of all things, and have managed to get yourself cursed into living your worst nightmares. A minute, inconspicuous, debilitating disease like that should just be a spring picnic for you, shouldn't it?" The mocking tones fell like acid on James' ears, and he suddenly remembered why the wizard was not well-liked. But then the words themselves sank in, and it no longer mattered how they were delivered, nor in what tones.

_He is right. I cannot let this stop me._ He looked up at the wizard, but could not see his face, for he had risen to 'greet' the next class. _Did you mean to be consoling?_ he wondered. _Or was that just my mind doing crazy things?—that seems to be happening a lot lately, after all..._ But he would never know the answer.

When that class had ended, the last of the day, Snape finished grading papers and made to leave. "You'll want to be fed, I take it. I suppose I will bring you something—although whether or not you will get it depends solely on the state of my office when I return, is that clear? I don't want you nosing around my careful organization." The ferret nodded, knowing full well that he was serious, and knowing equally well that he did not expect anything to happen anyway. Still, he took up his position as watch-ferret and guarded the wizard's desk with all his senses open.

But even the most alert cannot detect something invisible. He stared curiously as the door opened on its own, but did not suspect anything out of the ordinary. After all, pictures and staircases moves on their own—it only made sense for doors to open and close as they pleased. Thus he was startled when Harry and Ron appeared out of thin air. He barely managed to suppress a surprised squeak. Had they been invisible? They were taking off a very strange-looking cloak. Perhaps that was the answer. _I could use one of those_, he mused.

"_Lumos_," Harry whispered, and the tip of his wand glowed enough to light the room. "It's probably in his desk," he said to Ron.

"Right." They approached the desk, briefly rifling through the papers on top. "You keep looking here—I'll try the drawers," suggested the redhead.

_What are they looking for?_ James wondered. One thing was clear to him: they were up to no good. Determined to halt their trespasses, he climbed atop a pile of parchment where he would be noticed.

It was not long before Harry came upon him. "Mr—... What are you doing here?" he hissed. The ferret pawed at its collar. "That's right. Snape's supposed to be your owner, isn't he—has he gone off to supper?" The ferret nodded. They were interrupted by Ron yanking uselessly at a drawer. "Someone will hear you."

"It's locked."

Potter sighed. "Use your wand, Ron. First Year. You should know this."

"Oh yeah. _Alohamora_." There was a click, and the drawer slid open.

The ferret looked from the drawer to Harry with a questioning expression. "We're looking for the assignment Snape collected today. We have to make sure Ron gets the right grade."

The askance look was replaced with a glare that only a ferret could give. _Cheating. I hadn't thought you so dishonourable, Mr Potter._

"We're _not_ cheating," Harry retorted to the scowl as Ron moved on to another drawer. "And even if we were—it's Snape."

_And you think he cares any less?_

The boy sighed. "When Snape was collecting the assignment, Ron was reading through some notes from another class. Snape collected those by mistake. Ron had done the assignment, but Snape wouldn't accept anything else—he thought Ton was trying to cheat by adding more to his paper after the deadline. We just want to switch out the papers before the wrong thing gets graded."

"Harry, who're you talking to?"

"Er—no one. I can't find them," he quickly changed the subject.

"Try some of those other drawers then. He's got loads of assignments in here. There are some he's kept from before we ever got to Hogwarts.

Harry unlocked one of the drawers on the opposite side from Ron and began to dig through the papers. "All of these are Defense Against the Dark Arts papers. He must _really_ want that job."

Unable to allow their fruitless searching to continue—he would lose his supper, not to mention the Potions Master's uncanny trust, if there was any sign they'd been there—James crawled to the middle of the desk and squeaked. Both of the students looked up in surprise. "Bloody hell—is that Hermione's ferret?"

"No. The collar says it belongs to Snape."

"D'you think it works like Mrs Norris? If she ever caught us doing something, Filch was sure to find out."

"No, I really don't think it's like that."

"Well what do you think it wants?"

James pointed with his nose over the edge of the desk at the thin middle drawer. "I think it's telling us to look in here." They eagerly opened it. "Here are our class's assignments," exclaimed Harry.

"Brilliant." Ron flipped through the pages, until he came upon his. He carefully slipped it out, and put the real assignment in its place. "Got it. Let's get out of here before he comes back."

"Yeah." As Ron retrieved the invisibility cloak, Harry turned back to the ferret. "I know you probably don't approve but—you won't tell Snape, will you? When you're you again, I mean." James stared at him for a long moment. This boy was keeping an enormous secret for him; he owed him a lot. He shook his head. He would not reveal them. Potter looked relieved.

"Harry, come on. What are you waiting for? Snape could come back and second."

"Relax, Ron. It's only been a few minutes; supper won't be over for a while yet."

Ron's stomach growled at the mention of a meal. "Let's get back before Seamus eats all the pudding again." They hurried under the cloak and disappeared from sight—but not before Harry shot a final look at the ferret on the desk and mouthed a 'thank you'. Then they were gone, and James was left in silence and in the dark.

Less than an hour later, Snape returned. Not noticing anything out of the ordinary, he absently placed a saucer of food in front of James. So absorbed in his thoughts, so far away he must have been, for if otherwise, he never would have scratched the ferret's head as he did! James stared in astonishment as the wizard took his seat and began to grade the papers Harry and Ron's class had turned in, but Snape didn't seem to realize what he had done—or if he did, he acted as though that were exactly what he'd meant to do. No, that was preposterous. Snape hadn't intended to be friendly. He hadn't intended to be anything. ...Right?

———————————————————————————————————————

Aside from that mildly interesting first evening, James' moon cycle passed without incident or excitement.

It was the morning after his third night. He was human once again, and would stay so for another month. A nightmare about how he had become a were-ferret had wakened him, and now he leaned shakily over the sink, trying to catch his breath and calm himself. He stared at himself in the mirror, hardly recognizing the bearded, shaggy-haired man staring back. His spine stiffened when he was a carrion bird behind him—but he knew if he turned around, nothing would be there. His eyes drifted to the collar fastened around his throat.

"James, so good to see you," cried Lupin later that morning, clapping him jovially on the shoulder. "I trust you have been feeling better." He meant the colitis.

"It has not flared up again, if that's what you mean."

"Perhaps being free of enchantment may offer you some reprieve."

James smiled. "One can only hope. But, before I do this..." He hesitated, struggling to find the words. "My name," he began at last, "holds some meaning to you, does it not?"

"What do you mean, James?"

"That, right there. Every time you address me, every time you say my name, you say it like you have been saying it for years, as like to an old friend. I would like to understand why, if I may."

Lupin's brow furrowed. "I had hoped you wouldn't notice." He hesitated only a moment. "It was the name of one of my dearest friends. James Potter."

"Harry's father?" Norrington was astonished.

Lupin smiled briefly. "Yes, that's right. He ... He and his wife, Lily—another dear, dear friend— were murdered about thirteen years ago."

This added to the former-commodore's surprise. "By whom?"

"A dark wizard who was hungry for power. James tried to stop him, but... You remind me of him, a little."

"I do?" he asked awkwardly.

"Yes, you have the same spirit, the same determination. You're a bit more modest than he ever was, however," Lupin added with a wry smile, and James got the feeling that 'a bit' was rather an understatement.

"And what happened to this dark wizard?"

"We caught him, of course. He was locked away in Azkaban, a wizard prison of the highest security. The last I heard, he had been given the Dementor's Kiss: his soul had been sucked right out of him. Justice."

"Indeed."

Lupin suddenly laughed. "I cannot believe this conversation happened here."

Uh oh. "It was too personal—it was not my place to ask—."

"Not the conversation, James, the _location _of the conversation. If I had ever come here before you arrived, I would have had to enchant the old thing." James followed his gaze up into the branches of the Whomping Willow, white with snow. "Somehow—I don't think I'll ever know how, but somehow—you tamed it. And it's only tame for you."

"To be absolutely honest, I don't know how it happened either."

"There's something about you, James. Something that sets you apart from other Muggles. Now," the professor caught himself, "that collar." Grinning, Norrington reached up and unbuckled the accursed piece of red leather. "Better wrap it in your kerchief—I don't want to spoil anything by touching it myself until I run some tests." He handed it to the werewolf and the two exchanges it with a handshake. "I know what this means to you, James. If I find anything, you'll be the first to know." With that, he hurried off. He would begin the tests immediately. "One last thing," he called over his shoulder, turning to walk backwards. "Take care of that name, will you?"

"I'll be sure to." With a nod, Lupin continued on his way. James sighed and smiled up into the brittle branched of the Whomping Willow. As soon as the collar had left his hands, he had felt as though a great weight had lifted from him.

* * *

Aaand there's your chapter. Please review!


	19. What To Fear And What Not

All righty then. I'm back, ya'll, and writin' up a storm, yo!

Thanks to all of you who have been so patient over the last few months. Now that all the business is gone, I have next to nothing to do besides write these stories. Yay!

Thanks to: Sparrowlover, LM1991, fireboltcrazed, Swann Shooter, Little Miss Sparrow, Katherine-The-Crowned, AiSard, and of course, the lovely Authoressinhiding.

**I OWN NOT.**

**Of Fears Unknown**

**Chapter Eighteen: In Which a Lunch is Nearly Lost**

The days following were some of the best James had had since coming to Hogwarts. He was completely free of pain, and, more importantly, he was completely free of nightmares and hallucinations.

So it had been the collar's fault after all, he mused. He had been against it the whole time. Simply looking at it for the first time had filled him with apprehension: he realised that it had not been an irrational fear of the collar itself, but rather a subtle perception of the curse upon it. He wondered if that was significant. Still, there was a problem left. The original purpose of the collar had been to shield him from the students when he changed shape. Now there was nothing to discourage them, and he didn't fancy going back to sleepless nights devising an escape from girls' beds without being found out. That hadn't worked before, and it would not have worked any better now. He and Dumbledore had a very long discussion about this, in which he had promised to stay as inconspicuous as he could—but that had never worked very well in the past, had it? Still, the Headmaster agreed not to get another collar, and assured James that another solution would be found; until then, he should try not to wander away from Hagrid's hut when the full moon came round.

Within a fortnight Snape came to fetch him. It was early in the morning, the sky only just turning grey with the first light before dawn, but James was already awake, already at work feeding the menagerie of magical creatures, as was his duty. Little Chrystafi was not so little any more, either, and his horn was clearly visible. He followed along behind James as Snape led them into the castle and through the halls. The wizard sneered as the unicorn came in after them, but said nothing. They were led to Lupin's office, and they came upon it darkened and silent. The werewolf was asleep at his desk, his coat draped over him like a blanket. Norrington drew the curtains to let in the new dawn light, and Snape shook the sleeping man by the shoulder to wake him. He bolted upright with a start, saw them, then looked victorious, and James saw that he was wearing the collar around his neck.

"The person who had been enchanting this is somewhere in this school," he announced.

"How do you know?"

"Because very few enchantments can permeate the magical barrier surrounding Horwarts. Since putting it on, I have been having nightmares—I have woken from one just now, and when I opened my eyes I thought for a moment that it was all real."

"And it is good that the macabre and frightful plague you in your sleep?"

"I can learn more about it by experiencing it. And aside from that, as long as the symptoms continue, I can trace it back to whomever is casting the spell. We can catch this person, James."

"And what consequences would befall them?"

"The decision lies with Dumbledore, but I imagine banishment from the magical community, or, if it is a student, expulsion from Hogwarts would be a fitting penalty," growled Severus. "I hope I shall have the pleasure of administering that punishment."

"It's a curious thing, though," Lupin mused distractedly. "I have not been seeing things that are not there. None of my dreams have come to life."

"Perhaps it effects us differently. After all, I am only a Muggle."

"No, no, magic effects the magical and nonmagical alike, it is only that Muggles are not always aware of it. I am curious to know why it is different for you."

"Perhaps it is because I come from a different world," he offered, equally curious. "Maybe magic effects on of my world differently than one of yours."

"Maybe," came a distant, thoughtful reply. "I shall place a tracing jinx on the collar. If the caster does not lift the spell, we will be able to find him. Meanwhile, we shall be looking into other means of hiding you during your moon cycle. There is a theory I am eager to test, but the likelihood of success is very low. Until we can determine any plan, you must do your best at disappearing. We don't want more Gryffindors finding out, do we? Good man." And, with a clap on the shoulder, he was dismissed.

But his peace had been disturbed. As he walked down the path toward the Whomping Willow, he wondered why the curse had effected him differently. He put his arm over Chrystafi's narrow neck as they strolled side by side into the day.

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Now that he was free of worry and troubles, nothing hindered time and made it stretch away into eternity. The second fortnight passed in the blink of an eye, and he looked into the sky with a slight resignation as the full moon rose with the sun: this would be another time where he would remain a ferret for the entirety of his cycle. With a sigh, he shrank and became furry. Still, he found joy in the absence of his collar, in spite of what would—and did—inevitably happen. He was not found and taken until nearly noon, however, which he satisfied himself with as a new record. Who had found him? Do you even have to ask?

"Not again," said Ron as he and Harry followed after the girl and ferret.

"Is that the same one? You know it belongs to Snape," Harry warned, having guessed the situation.

"But he's out here all on his own, Harry. If Snape cared anything for his ferret, he would take better care of it. Besides, it doesn't even have the collar anymore."

"That doesn't change the fact that it belongs to him."

"Meaning it isn't yours," Ron added bluntly, and James wondered why every time he sawr the ginger child he was so sarcastic.

"Well we can at least bring him with us to Hogsmeade before we give him back to Snape."

"Er..." Harry exchanged a look with the ferret. After a moment, James nodded that it would be fine; he wouldn't be changing shape any time soon. "Er... I suppose it'll be okay."

"I guess we could give the little bugger a break from whatever Snape does to him," Weasely relented. "He can't punish us for giving him back, anyway."

And so, the little weasel was once again in the clutches of a young girl, wondering whether three days would be enough time to escape.

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Hogsmeade was unusually bright and cheerful that chilly March afternoon, and though there was still snow on the ground, Spring was in the air. Coming here with Hagrid every week to buy food and supplies, James had decided he very much liked the place. Perhaps he might make himself a home there, if in the end he could not return home.

The candy shop was the first stop, and sweets of every shape, shade, and species filled the shelves, eager to be bought and eaten. The bright colours, so out of synch with the gentle shades of the rest of the town, and which were not normally seen in his own world, made James' little eyes hurt. But when he was given a tiny place as a treat—hopefully safe for pets—he decided the garish colours were worth the taste.

They next went to a pet shop, simply to see what was there, before remembering the strange shop that seemed to change into a new shop every time they visited. Once inside, they met with a broom shoppe, selling everything from antique brooms and celebrity-owned brooms to racing brooms and brooms for pleasure-flying. _This must be what Hagrid meant about that Quidditch game,_ James mused. In all his time here, he had not gone to a single match. In all his time here, he had not gone to a single match. Perhaps he would change that.

"You know, I've been thinking about learning to fly," Hermione told them. "It's like a bicycle. Every Muggle knows how to ride a bike."

"I thought you didn't like flying," Ron reminded her. It was true; she had always preferred to have her feet safely on the ground.

"I never thought I would like it," she agreed. "But I've only ever tried at school. I want to try on my own, and I won't know if I really don't like it unless I try."

Harry grinned. "That's the spirit. Excuse me, sir," je addressed the shop owner, who stood behind an old-fashioned and un-needed Muggle cash register.

The man was of medium height and build, with light bronze skin and black hair; his moustache was waxed and his beard was pointed. His clothes were old-fashioned (though to be sure they seemed futuristic to James); a maroon vest over a dressy white shirt; black pinstripe trousers and shiny black shoes; a top hat on his head, even though he had long since cast aside his jacket; and he walked with a cane that he had no visible need for. Apprehension suddenly filled the ferret, and he had no idea why but the man struck him as familiar. _But I've never seen him before,_ he reminded himself. "How can I be of service?" the man asked, and the inflection of his voice seemed familiar as well.

"Can we take some of these out for a test-run?"

"Why of course, my good man. No use buying a broom you don't know. Leave your wands in that stand so I know you'll be back, and take whichever brooms you like."

They thanked him and selected their brooms. "Here, Hermione, try this one," Harry suggested.

"Oh but it's a racing broom. I don't want a fast broom; I want a gentle one."

"Brooms are no good if they don't go fast," said Ron.

"Only in Quidditch. I don't want a sports broom; I want a pleasure broom—something that rides smooth."

_Are we selecting brooms or horses?_ James wondered.

"If I may make a suggestion," offered the shopkeep, approaching, "Perhaps you should try a Snowdrop. They aren't the latest in pleasure brooms, but they are docile and gently, without all the decoration and cheek of the more current models."

They soon found the Snowdrops, looking very plain among the ribbons and colours of the other rather feminine pleasure brooms. The shaft was a pale walnut, and neat cherrywood bristles, secured by a light blue ribbon. "I think I like it already," Hermione ventured to say as she took it off the rack. Ron and Harry selected the latest in racing brooms, and the three headed outside.

"All right," said Harry, "You want to be centered on your broom. Too far forward and you'll slide off or run into the ground. Too far back and you'll lose a lot of your manoeuverability." He looked at Ron, who was staring back at the shop. "Aren't you going to help?"

"Sorry. It's just—d'you think it'll still be a broom shop when we go back in? I changed every time is all."

"Oh." The three—and the ferret—stared at the shop for a moment. "Well, the shopkeep is always the same person, sh he'll remember us, right?" They agreed.

And so the lesson went. Harry showed Hermione how to sit on and where to hold onto her broom, with Ron giving encouragement or, more often, criticism. Then it was time to fly. "Ready? Keep your broom level, and push off the ground."

_Whuhh,_ James though uneasily as they rose a couple of feet into the air and hovered shakily.

"Are you all right?" Ron asked, as the girl looked about how the ferret felt.

"I think I'm afraid of heights," she confessed.

"You don't have to go up high to fly—you're flying right now," Harry reassured her. "Do you want to stop?"

"No. I want to learn. But take the poor ferret, will you? I don't want him getting hurt if I fall or crash or—."

"You'll be fine," he replied as the ferret climbed onto his arm. "Now, lean forward a little and fly toward me. Nice and slow, that's it. Lean into the turn, easy, easy—."

"I've got you," called Ron, flying beside her to steady her. She smiled shakily at him, and within fifteen minutes she had a decent understanding of how to move around in three dimensions.

"You two must be bored," she said after a while. "Go have a race or something, with your flashy brooms. I think I'll be all right here."

The boys didn't need any more encouragement. They agreed on one lap around town, through the woods, out to the Shrieking Shack, ad back again. Last one back had to touch Mrs Norris. "Go!" And away they went. They wove between buildings and through people on the streets (of which there were conveniently few), twisting and turning and stopping short only to suddenly rocket upward or something. It can be said that the ferret in the hood of Harry's sweatshirt had been forgotten.

James clung to his perch as best he could, disoriented and perhaps even fearing for his life. _Ferrets were not meant to fly_, he lamented miserably.

The boys rocketed over a line of buildings into the woods where they wove through the trees, ducking and swerving to avoid branches. They laughed when either of them mis-times a barrel roll or barely averted a collision. In places Harry would shoot upward out of the trees to skim over the tops, only for Ron to follow and take over the lead. "This one flies great," the redhead exclaimed during a short moment when both were side by side. His was a bright neon green.

"This one's a little wild. I don't think it likes me," Harry said of his own, a dark blue. "It keeps bucking like a horse. I'm starting to wonder if it _wants_ to lose to a Greenlight—." Without warning, the broom in question shot forward, out of the woods and over the clear ground toward the Shrieking Shack.

_Whoa!_ James was thrown back with a squeak, and, unable to keep his grip on Harry's shirt, went flying. He managed to grab onto the smoking bristles on the tail of the broom, and he clung to them for dear life, for if he did not, he would fall a hundred feet to his death. But his grip was slipping. As sharp as his claws were, the wind and force from their speed tugged at him, threatened to pull him off. _Looking bleak once again,_ he thought despairingly. There was a small explosion behind him, and the broomstick sprang to an even faster speed. The ferret squeaked in alarm, barely audible over the roar of the wind and the angry blue broom—they were nearly to the Shrieking Shack, now, but James didn't have time to give it a closer look; he was slipping, and he continued to screech, desperate to be heard.

By some providence, the sound reached Harry's ears, and, suddenly remembering his charge, he turned his head back to see the ferret dangling off the end of his broom. _Saved! _James had the audacity to hope. However, the angry broom chose this moment to make a sudden and sharp turn as they veered around a corner of the Shack's roof. The centrifugal force was too strong, and the weasel was thrown flying.

"No!" Harry reached out to catch him; but his broom kept going, and he was quickly lost from sight.

This was it at last.

_Lord, I commend my stained and beaten soul to you_, James prayed as he tumbled through the air, plummeting toward the ground. The earth rushed up toward him: sixty feet; forty; twenty; fifteen. He squeezed his eyes shut, gritted his teeth, and braced himself for impact. _Swishh!_ What? Hadn't he hit the ground yet? Why was the wind still blowing in his ears? Why—? He dared to open his eyes, and saw he was flying. _Potter?_ Harry had circled the Shack and caught him, just in the nick of time.

"I'm sorry," the boy cried, zipping the ferret safely inside his sweatshirt.

_You didn't kill me; that is all that matters._ The ferret sighed. _How I wish I could take care of myself and not have to rely on others to keep me out of trouble._

"I'll make it up to you somehow—but we need to catch Ron first."

James rolled his eyes. _After all of this, we had better win. A loss would just add insult to what was nearly an injury._ And so they sped after the ginger and his more obedient Greenlight broom. They twisted and turned and swerved back to their starting point. Of course, the blue broom did not make things easy, even though Harry was the more skilled flier. To win he had had to dive. The sudden stop nearly lost James his lunch.

The boys, panting and laughing, dismounted their brooms and were once again safely on solid ground. "That was me."

"Yeah, only by an inch."

"A win is a win, Ron. Mrs. Norris. Ten seconds, no less." Weasely scowled and grumbled under his breath. Something about what Filch must do to his cat. "How are you doing, Hermione?"

"I'm fine, I think. That broom doesn't look very safe, Harry, and neither did your race. Is the ferret okay?"

"He's a little shaken up, but I think he's fine." Harry winced as he pried the weasel from his shirt. "You have really sharp claws, you know that?" He gave the creature a significant look. James could only shrug sheepishly.

Hermione took the proffered ferret into her arms. "Aw, you must have been frightened; that looked like a wild ride."

_It was nauseating,_ he agreed, still unsure whether he would get to keep his lunch, _and...somehow exhilarating. I prefer the sea by far, however._

"We should get going; I think we'll be leaving soon."

"Ah, welcome, welcome," the shopkeep greeted them as they re-entered. "How may I help you?"

The three stopped dead. The racks and displays of brooms had disappeared. In their place: shelves upon shelves of strange spinning, whirring objects and books. The shape, size, and decor of the shop had changed as well—even the shopkeep's outfit was different! "Excuse me, sir..." Harry began uncertainly. "But wasn't this a broom store not long ago?"

"Um? Ah? No, no, I don't sell brooms, lad: this is a store for charms, amulets, talismans—every kind of voodoo you can think of."

"But we were just here an hour ago—we took out these brooms for a test ride. Those are our wands on your desk. You told us to put them there while we were out."

"Me? I sell nothing of the sort. A broom store, fancy that. Ah well, if you want to trade brooms for wands, then by all means, be my guest—unless you wish to purchase one or the other?" Ironically, Ron was the only one to buy a broom. Hermione explained that, living in a Muggle community, a flying broomstick would be a little conspicuous. And so, they left.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Having been safely delivered to Snape following his adventure—and receiving a glare from said wizard when the ferret proved he could not go without mischief—James spent his remaining time as a ferret without incident.

On the third dawn, he became a man again. Snape sneered and averted his eyes. "Sorry," the were-ferret said sheepishly, covering himself with his hands.

"Thank God your clothes have been located. They would _already_ have been here had their finder not decided, against my guidance, to clean them than thus prolong your—less than favourable state." James' clothes, abandoned in the pumpkin patch, had disappeared, and had only hours ago been discovered under a sleeping Chrystafi, who had used them as a lining for his bed. "Could it not have waited until after they were needed?" Snape complained as he stepped into his office to retrieve his cloak. "Though I am sure they could use a good cleansing, you disease ridden rodent," he concluded, tossing said cloak at Norrington. The other man only laughed, sincerely amused rather than offended, as he caught the garment. For a moment, the wizard looked like he was about to return the smile.

But the moment was lost as the door swung open. James barely had time to cover himself in the cloak before Professor McGonagall strode in, her mouth set in a grim line. His smile fell at the sight of her expression. "The Headmaster has called a meeting. Both of you must please report to his office at once."

Norrington's eyes widened and he clutched the cloak more firmly around himself. "But I am not decent. Go on ahead of me; I will come when my clothes have arrived."

"I'm sorry, James, but the reason for meeting concerns yourself. Hagrid has already been summoned to Dumbledore's office. He has your clothing. If you hurry, you may have time to dress before the other staff arrive."

He did as bidden, and as he and Snape hastened through the hallways, they heard McGonagall's voice, magically amplified , repeating the summons for the rest of the staff. When they reached the stone gargoyle, Snape quickly uttered the password, sneering as though the happy, perky names of the candies did not often cross his lips.

"James, over 'ere," Hagrid beckoned when they entered. There was a decent hiding place behind one of the bookshelves. There, neatly folded, were his clothes. But something was missing. "Hagrid, where is my—?" With relief, he saw his sword in the larger man's hands. He reached to take it, but it was withdrawn.

"Sorry, James. Dumbledore's orders."

Though his brow furrowed in confusion, he was nonetheless grateful for real clothing, and he quickly doffed Snape's cloak and donned his own outfit. Simultaneously, the other teachers &c were filing in. When he came out, buttoning his cuffs, all had assembled.

"I am sure you are all wondering why I have called you here," Dumbledore said, turning away from his window with a weary look on his face. It suddenly struck James how old and tired he appeared.

"Shall I inform the students that classes will be delayed?" offered the deputy-headmistress.

"Thank you, Minerva. Now, the matter of this meeting is our own Mr Norrinton."

As the heads turned to look at him, James felt his pulse quicken. _What have I done? Have I broken some magical law?_

"You will recall that the collar prescribed to him, to hide himself at certain times, was cursed; an enchantment that brought his most violent and gruesome fears to life; they became real enough to cause physical harm to him. Someone in this very school cast the spell every night—at times, also during the day—with malicious intent. It grieves me to say that that someone was a student. That someone, James," he stepped aside to reveal the glaring blonde sitting in a chair behind him, "was Draco Malfoy."

* * *

-Gasp!- Dun dun dunnn! Want to know what's next? Sure you do. Please Review.


	20. And End to Fear

Whawhawhat?! It ain't been a week yet! It's only the day after the day after the day after the full moon. Five days, people! This means I'm all caught up now, right? Doesn't it? And my, how this chapter ran away with me! I was expecting it to be maybe half as long!

Happy Spring, everybody! WOOHOO

Wow, so many reviews already!

**SwordMasterZ:** Oh come on, you know you like it. Tell me seriously, would this story be anywhere near as interesting if it lacked all the delectable—I mean detestable—Norrington torture?

**Sachita:** Thank you for your lovely review; it made me smile.

**Disclaimer****: The torture-hating Norry fangirls would have killed me by now if I owned it.**

**Of Fears Unknown**

**Chapter Nineteen: And End to Fear**

"You!" cried a shocked and angry James. Without thinking, he reached for his sword—what he planned to do with it even he did not know—only to find it missing. What? His eyes darted to Hagrid, who had taken his weapon beforehand, but his anger had already dissipated.

"Don't look so surprised you filthy excuse for humanity," spat the fourteen-year-old.

"I had though that you might have learned to respect your elders, Mr Malfoy, or I would not have invited you to attend Hogwarts."

"Respect him—he tried to kill me!"

The heads turned to stare, and there was a concerned murmur, but James made no response, feigning a calm disbelief while he forced his roiling emotions down.

"Mr Norrington is a trusted member of our staff," replied McGonagall. "It is neither his nature nor his intent."

"He's been plotting to kill me," Malfoy insisted. "Ever since...."

"Ever since you tortured him with the Cruciatus Curse," Dumbledore finished, and the blonde looked at him in shock. "Yes, yes, we know all about that. You could not expect such monumental disregard for magical law to go unnoticed, did you?"

"But I thought he was just a ferret. I didn't think I was hurting anyone."

"That is precisely the reason why I did not call this meeting months ago. However, more recently you have knowingly been casting upon Mr Norrington. How do you defend your actions?"

"It was just to distract him from murdering me."

Snape muttered a spell, and Draco's mouth snapped shut. "Severus, that was not called for," berated the headmaster.

"Brilliant students make brilliant liars, Headmaster. Answer the question," he growled. Malfoy shook his head. "Answer or face the consequences." And he flicked his wand.

"It was just to distract him," Draco repeated, grimacing as though the words were being pulled out of him. "But after a while I saw it starting to hurt him. He was going crazy, and the stuff he saw was making him bleed. It wasn't supposed to happen like that, but I was glad it did. Maybe the dreams would kill him before he kills me." This met a shocked—appalled, rather—silence.

McGonagall looked back to James, concerned, and he shook his head, never removing his glare from the youth. "I would not harm a child, no matter how insolent, ill-mannered, or demonic." _Unless they fell under my jurisdiction, as on a ship,_ he added in thought, suddenly remembering his past life. _And even then I would be lenient._

Somehow contriving to be fascinated by the situation, Lupin cut in to ask, "And how did you come to learn such a spell? You certainly would not have learned it in any of your classes, not even my own; it falls under the classification of the Dark Arts." This set the other staff murmuring even louder.

"It must have come from outside of Hogwarts." "In the post?" "From a shoppe. That suspicious one in Hogsmeade, I shouldn't wonder." "Is someone supplying students with dangerous material?" "Are other students learning such things?"

"Draco?" Lupin continued calmly through their concerned voices, "Where did you learn the spell?"

Malfoy closed his mouth again and shook his head. Once again, Snape flicked his wand. Once again, the truth tore its way out. "I-I got it out of a book."

"And where did you get this book, Mr Malfoy?" squeaked Flitwick.

"I suh-suh-stole it," he fought against every word. "Out of the rah-Restricted Section in the Library. I learned lots–lots of spells. B-b-bad spells." Every confession ended with a glare and a look of pure hatred, directed sometimes at the professors in general, but mostly at Norrington.

"And let me guess; you've corrupted other students with your devilry," James growled.

"Nuh-nuh-nobody else knows. If it killed you, I didn't wa-want anyone else to figure it out. Can't trust other kids. They'd tuh-turn me in."

"Not even your friends?"

"Can't trust other kids."

"And how did you come to know of the collar?"

"I-I saw it on the table when y-you had me in your office. I knew it had to be for the new teacher cuz he's the only one who would need a collar, so I puh-puh-put the spell on it. When I saw him again, he had a kerchief around his neck, so I knew he was hiding something."

"Is that all?"

"I-I followed him. I snuck out at night sometimes to make sure it was working, but I couldn't stay long enough to be sure wuh-without getting caught, so I could never tell. I juh-juh-just kept casting on him."

"So you shadowed me every step of the way." James could not keep the rage out of his voice. "You could't just leave it at the Cruciatus, could you? You had to make the bad worse."

"See? I told you! He's gonna murder me!" Malfoy cried in genuine fear. "He'll tear me apart and eat me in pieces."

"Excuse me? I am a ferret, not a cannibal."

"Draco, tell us more about what you've done," Madam Hooch prompted. She knew him for a decent Quidditch player and had a relatively high opinion of him; she wanted to give him as much chance to defend himself as she could; Snape obviously wasn't going to help his favourite student.

"He'll bite me and make me just like him—he already tried once!"

Questioning glances were sent James' way. "I was only trying to get away from him. I did not bite hard, nor with malicious intent. Self preservation was my only motive, and no ulterior."

"Don't believe him. He's a monster is what he is!"

"Mr Norrington, I think it would be best if you left us for a while," suggested Dumbledore.

"_Excuse me_?"

"Go and collect yourself. When you have calmed, you may return."

Incredulous, he cried, "I am _not_ homicidal." But it would not be helped, and with a helpless sigh he fled the room.

"I will go with him," Lupin offered. "You already know my position on this matter, Dumbledore." And, with one last look at the accused, he left. He found the other man sitting at the bottom of the spiral staircase, pensive and remarkably calm. "Walk with me, James."

"But—the meeting."

"Don't worry. They won't reach a decision on his punishment until tomorrow when his parents and the Ministry of Magic arrive for the hearing." They walked the halls in silence. "I'm a little concerned, James, about your composure," Lupin said after several minutes.

"I am serene, sir, what can you mean?"

"That's just it, you see. Dumbledore sent you out to be angry. It's all right, you know, to be angry. Especially after all that's happened. You are like a spring, James. Keep yourself pressed down for too long and soon you will slip, and explode without control. He's given you a chance to lose composure without consequence. Don't waste it."

"He sent me out, sir, to prevent me harming the boy," came a calm, if slightly stiff, reply. "A notion which I had not entertained."

"Dumbledore knows that."

Norrington looked at him in surprise. "Then why have I been sent away?"

"You mean aside from calming yourself?" James shook his head in denial of the need. "It was obvious Malfoy wasn't going to say anything else with you in the room, even with an advanced truth charm."

"Is that what Snape did?–made him tell the truth?"

"Yes, and to make him speak when he refused. I hate to admit it, but it was necessary. The boy is a very convincing liar."

"I still cannot believe that after all these months I did not notice that I was being stalked," James admitted with a shake of his head. "If I were half the man I used to be, I might have caught him at it long ago."

"If you were the man you used to be, you might sincerely have considered harming the boy."

"I am not that sort of person!" he cried in anger at last. "I never have been."

"In your own world, what would you have done?"

"I would have apprehended him and brought him before the authorities. Let them decide his punishment."

"But is it not true that, as Commodore, and in your time the commanding officer of the Port Royal squadron, you would serve as the judge in court?" He had remembered all that?

"Only in a naval case. Civil cases are beyond my jurisdiction, and rightly so."

"And what do you think his sentence would be?"

"For the attempted murder of a commanding officer? He may very well have hanged."

"Then you knowingly would have delivered him into the hands of those that would kill him, do you see?"

Rage gleamed in James' eyes at this blatant attack on the principles he had held true. "And what will befall him here?"

"Well, Snape mentioned expulsion; possibly the loss of his wand and magical privileges; but I think there is something else. The Malfoys are one of the most highly bred and purest-blooded families in the wizarding world. Draco is not easily moved by fear; he is the sort who inspires it, I suppose; and yet, simply the sight of you grinding your teeth sends him into hysterics. Bred so selectively as he was, I think he was reacting to the one thing you have that no one else possibly could."

"And what is that? Is it because I am a Muggle? A were-ferret? Or is it because of both?"

"It is because you are from another world, James." There was a long silence in which, no longer able to understand and walk at the same time, the man in question stopped and sat on a stone bench, across from a window overlooking the sunny courtyard beginning to bloom with early spring.

"Please to explain," he requested at last with furrowed brow, mind generating thoughts faster than he could comprehend them.

Lupin chewed on his words for a moment. "When I put on your collar... I had dreams—nightmares, yes. Horrible, frightening nightmares about the sort of things one fears most. For you it was the consequences of your actions. For me, it was... well, it was something that will never happen. Before long, those dreams began to leak into the waking world, as happened with you. But that was where it stopped. They could not hurt me; they could not touch me, and likewise I could have no effect on them."

James could barely grasp the idea. Too much was going on in his mind. And, deep inside, pain was blooming. "How? How could it effect me so much more severely than it did you?"

"It did not effect you differently; you effected it."

"How can that be? What could I possibly have that you do not?"

"Countermagic." The man's mind was threatening to spin out of control in confusion. "Well, anti-magic, actually. I've never seen anything like it."

"What is it?" Reduced to simple sentences. Somewhere, he was irritated with himself.

"There is an energy in you; a power that does not exist anywhere in this world that causes you to be resistant to magic. It shows with your lycanthropy—when you are a ferret, you are able to retain your consciousness and your humanity. You are one of very few who can control the progression of their transformation. You can stop partway through if you try. It also explains your violent reaxion to any potions or other magical substances."

James gritted his teeth. "So it's made everything worse." It suddenly occurred to the wizard that he was panting. "It has made a monster that knows it is a monster. It has inflicted pain where relief was intended. And it has given what should have been an ultimately harmless curse the power to cause me harm."

"I do not think that is the way of it at all, James," Lupin mused. "It has given you control over yourself. When you drink a potion, it tried to expel the magic from your body because it is so foreign an energy. And in the case of your dreams, your countermagic gave you the ability to defend yourself from perceived harm. Unfortunately, that meant they could effect you as well. It is like a shield, James. Your Realm is protecting you."

"Huh." He leaned on his knees, arms crossed, trying his best to feign the anger he was supposed to be feeling.

"It is very possibly that you could even deflect some kinds of magic directed your way—just as you did the ravens with your sword."

"That so?" The signs were all there.

"What's wrong—are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

"You're in pain. Is your colitis flaring up?" The stress of the day, combined with the wild, life-threatening broom ride of a few days prior, had had an ill effect on him.

"I'm fine," came the pinched repetition through gritted teeth and short breath.

"I'll send for some pain-killers."

"Don't bother." James fumbled frustratedly in his pocket for a moment and retrieved the medicine.

"Do you want any—" He put a dose into his mouth and ground it between his teeth. "—...water?" Apparently not. They were silent for a long time. After a few minutes, the creases of pain began to smoothe from his brow. "I noticed a rather sizeable pile of wood near Hagrid's hut," Lupin skipped to a more light-hearted subject in the hopes that less intriguing thoughts would speed the relief of pain. "He told me you had undertaken a project."

"I am building a boat," James replied, easing himself to his feet. The wizard reached out to support him—the medicine had not taken full effect—only to be shaken off. "Oh don't—I'm fine." He was given his space, and they resumed their walk through the halls.

"A boat? What kind of boat?"

"A sailboat, I suppose you might call it." He was certain if he named the specifics, he might not be understood. "I hadn't thought to make any other sort."

"Of course. But why make one? What will you use it for?"

"For selfish purposes, really. I miss the sea. And with my memories fading, I do not want to forget the feel of waves under my feet. I will take it out on the lake. Perhaps even use it in classes, occasionally. Professor Sprout has already chartered monthly trips out to the island upon completion—something about a rare herb growing there."

"To the island, eh? Have you heard about the lake?"

"Do you mean the monster? I have heard stories, yes—about a strange creature lurking beneath the surface of the water. Once or twice I think I may have seen a great tentacle reaching into the air. Something like that does not exist in my world, except in legend—Davy Jones, for instance; the kraken. To encounter something like that in reality—that is beyond my conception." And to be frank, the thought quite unnerved him. "Ah-but—," he caught himself, shoving uneasiness back in its corner, "Rubeus has assured me that my expeditions should be entirely safe; the monster hasn't killed anyone in centuries."

Lupin laughed, having seen that single vulnerable moment. "Is that what he told you?"

James' face dropped and he stopped in his tracks. "Excuse me?"

The other man kept walking, shaking his head with a grin. "No, no, you're right. It's harmless. Absolutely and _completely_ harmless."

"Are you making sport of me?" Lupin continued ahead without answer. "Wait—wait—is it true?" the other man trotted after him, cruel joker that he was.

* * *

"Does the defendant have anything else to say in his own defense?" The judge asked, a great toad-like man of a subsonicly deep voice.

"We have told you everything. Every question has had its answer," seethed the tall, black-robed man.

It was the next day. In a large, echoing stone room behind the Great Hall, the hearing had commenced. The Ministry of Magic had been summoned, and so had supplied a jury and judge. Lupin, Snape, Dumbledore, and Hagrid represented James, and Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy had been called to represent their son.

"And the plaintiff?"

"I do think," said Dumbledore, a grim spark in his eyes, "that there is something Mr Norrington has not told us."

"Withholding information?" scorned the judge.

"Not at all. It is something that he witnessed many months ago. I do not think he understood the significance."

"And what might that be?"

"See for yourself, if you please," replied the headmaster with a gesture at the stone Pensieve sitting off in the corner, the silver thread of a memory swirling around inside. A recess was called for, and nearly everyone left the room while the judge gracefully stuck his head in a bowl.

Upon returning, James noticed the man's frown had deepened with what he had seen. "In addition to enchanting a teacher with malicious intent," the large man boomed, "Draco Malfoy has also cast two of the three Unforgivable Curses. Those were the Cruciatus and the Death Curses." Someone in the jury gasped loudly, and those around her fell to a shocked murmuring. The judge did not silence them, for he had been equally appalled. "They were not cast on a person, I assure you. A ferret, rather," he went on after the din had died. "But, _they were cast_."

"It was just a ferret, sir, I thought it was just a ferret."

"Quiet, boy!" hissed Lucius. "Your babbling has cost us enough already."

"The ferret is still alive, I presume," the judge continued, ignorant of the boy's outburst. "He was interrupted part-way through by some distraction or other. Mr Malfoy, is it true that you cast such spells for the enjoyment and entertainment of your classmates?"

"I-I-I was just showing off. None of them knew the spells, so I thought it would be good sport." Normally a lie would have been his answer, but all sides were under the power of a truth serum. "I learned the words when I was a kid. I found an old book about them in Aunt Lestrange's attic."

"And of course now you are guilty of having taught Unforgivable Curses to your classmates," the judge informed him. "The list of your crimes continues to grow." He turned his great bewigged head back to James.

"You did not think to report these actions?"

"I—ah—did not think it significant. I thought it was just another spell."

"Why is that? Every grown wizard knows the gravity and horror of such actions, especially in a child."

"Because...," he wilted slightly, as he had been instructed, "I am Muggle-born, sir. And I never finished my education. Sir." That much was true, and the jury seemed satisfied with as much.

"That's not true!" cried the young Malfoy in spite of his father's scowl and his mother's frantic shushing. "He didn't report me because he couldn't report me—not without revealing that he was the ferret."

"You say _he_ is the ferret?" came a reply filled with badly-hidden amusement.

"He is! He's a were-ferret," Draco cried.

In the ensuing bewildered silence, James put on a confused expression, leaned in to Lupin, and muttered loud enough to be heard, "Does that even exist?"

"I've never heard of such a case," the professor replied, and it was true he hadn't; he had _seen_ one.

"He's wanted revenge ever since, so I put the enchantment on him."

"That was not the reason you gave earlier," thundered the judge, and a murmur arose among the jury. "Order! I will have order! There now, Mr Malfoy, you confessed that the object which you enchanted was a random object of unknown consequence."

"Well it was true, sir, I didn't really know what it was for, but I guessed it was meant for him." And for this the boy received a sharp jab in the side from his father's cane.

"This changes your story quite a bit, sir."

"But aren't you going to ask him why he was wearing a collar in the first place?"

"I hardly think my fashion sense has anything to do with such a matter, don't you agree?"

"You are a bit of an eccentric, I take it, Mr Norrington; I am not surprised, by the look of you, and I would not put it past you to have such—unique tastes." A brief, awkward silence. Then, back on topic, "Has anyone anything to say in defense of this young man?"

An overwhelming silence. Then, moved by guilt (and perhaps the truth serum), James rose from his seat. "James, what are you doing?" Lupin hissed, tugging at his sleeve to seat him. He was ignored.

"Your Excellency, good people of the jury, the person against whom I press these charges is yet a child. I sincerely believe that he was not fully aware of the reality and extent of his actions. I pray you will not be too severe with him, should you rule against him."

The judge looked at him with a mixture of respect, surprise, and incredulity, and said blankly, "I have no further questions," before collecting himself and continuing, "Both parties will please to take recess while the jury comes to a decision."

The others rose, and James followed them out, pensive—however, he did not fail to see the look of pure hatred thrown his way by the senior Malfoy. Out in the Great Hall, they retired to opposite corners. "James, why th' reason fer that little act o' yourn back there?"

"Because I have a conscience, Mr Hagrid," he replied briskly, before adding more quietly, "and I feel I have been ignoring it rather too much in the past."

"Too weak to bear the responsibility of bringing justice to a brilliant child and ruining his bright future?" purred Snape.

"That's me. No spine whatsoever." An amused smile.

There was a slightly awkward silence, as though the others could not wrap their minds around the combination of Snape and humour; only Dumbledore was unaffected, blue eyes twinkling with a faint merriment behind his half-moon glasses. "Well, my lads," the old headmaster said, "best start grading papers. I expect we are in for more than a short wait." And so the minutes passed; quickly at first, but then coming to a sudden stop and refusing to move by any faster than a snail's pace. James spent his time whittling. From time to time he looked up to see that one of the Malfoys had taken a break from whatever argument or scolding or scheming had commenced and was scowling at him in a way meant to quicken the pulse. He only kept chipping away at his piece of wood, completely unfazed: he had gotten many such a look in his days as a pirate hunter.

Only an hour later (a phrase which seems rather oxymoronic given the pace at which said hour moved), a member of the jury came out. "Er, excuse me, Dumbledore, sir," stammered the short, balding man. "You presence is required in the—er—courtroom." Without a word, the headmaster rose and followed him in, purple robes billowing behind him as he closed the door.

Suffocating silence. Time crawled on.

Perhaps another twenty minutes later, James had nearly finished the figurehead of his lost _Dauntless_ and was beginning to worry that he would have nothing else to do afterward, when the doors were opened and they were invited back inside to hear the judgement. The jury rose as they entered, and James noticed Dumbledore already in place as he took his seat beside him. The judge looked at them sternly; first one party, then the other.

"I have seen many cases in my time, Ladies and Gentlemen, but none quite like this. It has taken strange turns and yielded odd excuses. I would venture to say it is one of the hardest decisions I have had to make. Don't think I mean the ruling; the boy is guilty as an imp," brusquely. The Malfoys, who had momentarily looked hopeful, snapped back into sombreity. "What I mean is the punishment. Normally the punishment for any witch or wizard who casts an Unforgivable Curse on another sentient being, which is what he perceived and intended it to be, is a lifelong trip to Azkaban, regardless of the situation or his or her other crimes. However, it is as Mr Norrington reminded us. This boy is just that: a boy. He is under age. And yet he had the effrontery to cast enchantment on his teachers based on an assumption concerning his use of the Curses; added to his list of crimes. He _should _go to jail. However," he turned his speech again, "it is also as Mr Norrington said: the boy did not comprehend the seriousness of his actions. I doubt he even stopped to contemplate them, for I can see he acted purely out of paranoia. A level of paranoia, I fear, that is dangerous when combined with a brilliant mind such as his. The very ingredients to sculpt a Dark wizard, don't you think?" There was a long, pregnant silence. "The wish for mercy shall be granted. Draco Malfoy, I sentence you to a stay at St. Mungo's Asylum for the Mentally Unstable. There, the memories of these events will be erased, and when the doctors deem that you have recovered your wits and your stability, you will be released to continue your education here at Hogwarts. Dumbledore has agreed not to expel you."

Narcissa had crumbled with relief at the news that her son would not be taken to Azkaban, and was crying dainty tears, hugging him to her in bittersweet assuagement. However, Lucius's upset had been growing throughout. "This is an outrage! You cannot send my son to a madhouse. We will become the laughing stock of the magical world."

"You are being given a very mild sentence!" roared the judge. "Or would you rather have him thrown in prison? Perhaps if you cared more about your son than your reputation, he would not be in this mess in the first place. I have made my judgement. Adjourned." And with a tap of his gavel, the hearing was over, and people began to disperse.

Out in the Great Hall, the elder Malfoy stormed up to Dumbledore, a fretful wife and miserable son in tow. "If you think, even for a moment, that I would allow my son to come back here after what you have done to him, then you are gravely mistaken."

"I am sorry you see it that way," replied Dumbledore without reaxion. "Very well. He is expelled. Good day, Mr Malfoy." And with that he strode away.

"I doubt any other school will accept him with a stain of that size on his record," purred Snape with what might be described as satisfaction. "Don't worry. I'm sure if you grovel Dumbledore may change his mind."

"Don't you talk to me, you snake. You were meant to keep this sort of thing from happening. You were meant to teach him right."

"I have no business guiding a student that is not worth my time. You should be going; I hear you need to pack up for a very, very long trip."

With a growl, Lucius made to leave, but he stopped when he came to James. "You. You filthy Mud-blood." Seeing the man's confusion, he went on, almost thoughtfully, "You are so simple. According to law, you cannot even do magic. Not that you could anyway. You're hardly better than a Muggle at best. Do not think we will thank you for swaying the judge before the jury had ever cast their votes. You caused this."

"To my simple brand of knowledge, your son brought this on himself."

"You will pay for this, James Norrington, count on it."

James met the challenging stare with one of his own. "I'll be waiting. Count on _that_," he shot back with a frightful smile, and, intimidated, the wife dragged her family away. "Respectable lot, aren't they?" Lupin and Hagrid grunted agreement. Snape, on the other hand, had just lost himself some valuable friends of high station in the Wizarding community. It didn't matter, though. Threat or no threat, James was at last free of this certain concern.

* * *

And there you have it. I know the court case wasn't very accurate to the real thing, but I was too lasy to research it, and I have no idea how it would happen in the magical world anyway.

A lot of you have been wondering who the mysterious shop keep is. Your guesses have been interesting. Keep posting them in your reviews! Don't worry, you'll find out who he is...in the VERY LAST CHAPTER! -evil cackle-

Review!


	21. Fearfully Unfearful

Hey all! I know, it's been a while since you've seen anything from me. Sorry. Been busy with the whole graduating thing and getting ready for college and preparing for a 3 week tour of Europe and all.

Frantically trying to get this up before I leave.

Thanks for all the reviews.

**Of Fears Unknown**

**Chapter Twenty: Fearfully Unfearable**

At Hogwarts, time passed at an alarming rate. The cold had fled, and with it all worry. Spring had come at last.

James finally attended his first Quidditch match, where he marveled at the speed and agility of the fliers, not to mention their fantastic aim, and he found he quite enjoyed the sport. True at times he thought on the almost savage brutality with which the Beaters clubbed the Bludgers at other players, and he was reminded of cannonballs and battles at sea, but such nostalgic thoughts were what drew him to the game.

With the passage of time and the presence of spring came a time of new life, and, more noticeably, of growth. It suddenly dawned on him how big 'little' Chrystafi had gotten. His golden fur definitely had a silver sheen to it, and his horn was almost two inches long, sparkling in the sunlight, making rainbows in its twists and curves. But what James was now realising was that the young unicorn was nearly big enough to ride—not by himself, of course, as he was a big man, but perhaps by a student, and most likely the young Miss Granger. Perhaps in a few more months...

The boat was coming along nicely. He had laid her keel and ribs, and was carving long planks of wood to a curve for her hull. He nailed each plank into place, as he finished carving, with the mallet and nails he had bought in town. That's right. Bought. As he was a member of the staff, Dumbledore had seen fit to pay him for his labours. The currency and the rate at which he was paid surprised him: instead of making only a couple hundred pounds a year as commodore, provided he took no prizes, he would make thousands—tens of thousands. He would be richer than he had ever imagined or dared to hope, and in a job so much lesser than his former post.

Often Harry, Ron, and Hermione came by offering to help, and when it came time for a break, or otherwise was raining and work had halted, he would bake for them and they would eat and share stories and be merry. It was on one of these rainy spring days that he learned of the effects of Draco Malfoy's sudden departure.

"They say he's been expelled."

"Not expelled," he corrected them gently. "He's just...gone away for a while. I do not know where." And it was true.

"Was he sent away?"

"People are saying he killed someone."

"If he had killed anyone, Mr Potter, would there not be two people absent rather than one?"

"Good point."

"Oh no—jam on my pants again—hundredth bloody time," groaned Ron.

"Again? You are simply a pig, Ron Weasely. Come on, I'll help you get it out," Hermione led him to the sink.

Taking the opportunity, Harry turned to the man with a glare. "He was sent away because of you, wasn't he? He must have known. He had you before Hermione ever did. He was sent away based on lies so you could save yourself. Is that how it was?"

Norrington put down his tea and looked the boy in the eye with his best intimidating-but-emotionless-commodore look. "No, Potter, the reasons for which he was sent away were real enough, and were acknowledged by the Ministry, as well as Dumbledore himself—although the circumstances under which said reasons came about were, regrettably, related to myself. I am sorry you would see me so selfish, Mr Potter. I had hoped you had a higher opinion of me."

Harry lowered his eyes, anger dissipating. "Sorry. I just thought..."

"Jumping to conclusions has never been a good habit to have, Mr Potter, and I know that from the experiences of making complete messes of things myself for my rash assumptions and rasher actions. But I see you are level-headed and so forgive you. That temper, however," he lifted his tea cup. "That temper you will have to watch."

* * *

In no time at all, it seemed, the little boat was finished. She was twenty-two feet six inches on deck, twenty-seven feet overall. Her mast was set just forward of the waist, and she carried a gaff-rigged mainsail, staysail, and jib. There was a well-sized cuddy in the bows that could be used for gear and other cargo during class trips and such, or, as James was planning, it could be used as a cabin for overnight trips.

Now he was painting a name in curling letters on the fantail. At last, a boat! "I christen thee the _Fallen Star_," he announced to the cheers and congratulations of his three assistants. He had thought long and hard on a name that would hopefully remind him of his world, and had settled on the means of his arrival as a decent mind-jogger. "And what a fine day it is for sailing." With help from the young magic-doers, he got the _Star_ to the bank of the lake, and from there the four of them pushed her into the water. For several moments they carefully watched her for any signs of taking on water, but she only bobbed merrily on the waves. "She is seaworthy! Let us embark." He pulled the _Fallen Star_ by her mooring line closer to shore, well enough into the shallows for the students to climb in without getting too wet, then shoved her off and clambered in himself, quite enjoying the fact that he was sopping wet. "Messrs Midshipmen Potter and Weasely, take the helm if you please." Which it was a tiller, rather than helm, but of course 'helm' sounded better and more like on a ship. "Hold as straight a course as you can."

"Aye-aye, Captain!" they chorused with eager salutes. Ahh, it was good to be called that again, and he felt a distant part of him stirring.

"Lieutenant Granger, let us drop canvas."

"Aye-aye."

"Why's she get to be first mate instead of a middie?" Ron asked with a hint of jealousy.

"Because I have more sailing experience than either of you," she shot back at him.

"A warning shot has been fired across your bows, Midshipman Weasely. Shall you turn and deliver broadside or run up a flag of truce?" The redhead seemed quelled. In truth, James had intended to name all three of them midshipmen, but it was always _Mr _Midship_man_, and of course Midshipwoman didn't have quite the same ring to it. Lieutenant, however, had no gender attached to it. And she did know her knots and the basics of small boat sailing and steerage. "Haul on the mainsheet, Lieutenant Granger," he ordered.

"Right—er—which one's the mainsheet?" The skipper quirked an eyebrow and the crew snickered. Blushing, she said in her defense, "I know which ropes do what, I just don't know the names. It was always 'Pull that rope over there.'"

"The mainsheet is a rope?"

"A line, rather," James corrected them. "It is only a rope when it is coiled up and out of use. This one here is the mainsheet."

"Why is it called a sheet instead of a line, sir?" Hermione asked, disappointed that she knew less than she thought and eager to learn.

"You are asking a sailor what-sailor talk means?" he replied with a chortle, and it was left at that. In truth, he could not remember. So, the sails were raised, lines secured, and his young proteges were shown the ropes, as it were. "Setting course for the island." And with the wind in the sails, the waves beneath his feet, and the tiller in his hands, James was home.

"You don't suppose the giant squid'll try to sink us, do you?" Ron asked, looking nervously over the side. His friends laughed uncertainly and looked to their captain. He only continued to look out over the water, as though he hadn't heard them.

In all too short a time, they reached the little island, which was actually much bigger than it looked from shore, and moored on a narrow beach. Dense forest covered the island, and they could not see through it for any signs of life. Eagerly, they pushed their way through the trees until they came upon a natural path, sunlight beating down through gaps in to canopy, stone and dirt patches leaving gaps in the grass and moss. Hermione, as Lieutenant, had the privilege of leading the way. Their fearless captain was bringing up the rear, senses alert, ever wary of danger—for danger there must surely be, for few to ever come to this place. There were other reasons for suspicion and caution: it was almost silent. Not a birdsong within a mile, not a rustle of leaves. Instinct kept him sniffing apprehensively.

"Wonder if there's anything cool here—buried treasure, like." A smile tugged at Norrington's lips. How typical. Put them on a boat, and the first thing on their minds was treasure.

"Or pirates," the other lad agreed.

"Or monsters."

"Now, now," their captain cut in. "Careful what you wish for, lads. Speculations such as those are not entirely out of possibility, knowing this place." But he did not want to dampen their cheer, and spoke as though he were merely playing the part.

Ever curious, they continued deeper into the trees, until even the gentle lapping of the waves on the shores faded to silence. "Ohh, it's eerie here, isn't it?" shivered Hermione.

"Some fearless Luff-tenant."

"Hey!"

"Fearless Fluff-tenant is more like it."

James wasn't listening to their playful bickering. He had seen something overhead—a shadow?—and his head snapped up, eyes scanning the branches. Nothing there. _Just my imagination. My, am I a jumpy one..._ A rustling of leaves. _What was that?_ Getting closer, closer. It was almost on top of them. He began to draw his sword.

"Mr Norrington, why do you pronounce lieutenant with an F in it?" Potter asked without turning around. Something crashed through the branches. A muffled cry. They spun around to see...nothing. Not a thing, not a one. Not even Mr Norrington.

"Mr Norrington?" Hermione called as the three rushed back to the place he had been. Not a sound. No sign of a struggle. "Mr Norrington?" she called again, worried now. "If this is a joke, it isn't funny!"

"H-Hermione," quavered Ron, "I don't think it's a joke."

There was a rustling in the bushes off the path, and they turned toward the sound hopefully. But a great, ear-splitting screech quickly changed their minds. "Run!" cried Harry.

They crashed through the trees, hearts pounding, and always around them the wildly waving branches as their invisible predators pursued them. In the trees, away from the path, they could hear great footsteps. They didn't dare look behind them. Harry was the first to fall, and his comrades looked back to see him being dragged into the bushes, clawing at the ground for a hold and finding none.

"Harry!" Ron raced back and caught him be the arms. "Hold on!" But it was no use. The thing pulling him was too strong.

"Don't worry about me, save Hermione!" Potter cried. "Get back to the boat, and get help!" After a moment's hesitation, Ron nodded and released his grip, and Harry was pulled into the trees.

"Run!" the redhead shouted as he ran back to Hermione. "Don't just stand there, come on! Move!"

"But—Harry—."

"He's got his wand. We have to get help, come on!" They pounded along the path, desperate to find a place where they could double back, or else they'd have to keep going until they reached the opposite shore and then skirt the beach to get to the boat. Another screech behind them. They skidded to a halt at a fork in the path.

"This way," Hermione yelled, tearing down the one to the right. For a moment, it seemed they had lost their pursuers.

Then a great, deep chuck-chuck-chucking boomed behind them. "What the bloody hell is that?!"

A like reply echoed from in front of them, and they skidded to a halt. "There's more than one," observed Hermione as she and her companion drew their wands.

"Which way are they coming from?"

"They're all around us! Stand back to back." No sooner had they done so than one of the creatures came crashing out of the trees. Hermione whirled around in time to see Ron's frightened face disappearing into the branches. "Ron!"

"Keep running!" she heard him shout in the distance. "Get out of here!"

But she did not. Whether she could not or would not we may never know, but she did not run away. And so, quaking, she turned to face the thrashing bushes, wand out in front of her. She could not help but scream—out of surprise rather than fear, to be sure—when she saw the creature that had been pursuing them, picking them off one by one. A giant rodent, at least the size of a bear, if not larger. It was brown, with black and white stripes down either side and a skinny, bristly tail. It regarded her with beady black eyes, tail twitching seemingly with its own mind. It leaned forward and sniffed her, whiskers nearly touching her face. She dared not move. It was not enough. The great beast reared up on its hind legs with a monstrous screech, pawing the air, and came crashing down. She hastily jumped backward to avoid it, stumbled, and fell, her wand knocked out of her grasp. Defenseless now, she could only scoot farther backwards as the creature stalked toward her. At last, she could go no further, having backed into a tree, and she looked back at the creature, desperately trying to think up a plan.

Then, somewhere, the sound of footsteps pounding through the leaf mold. As the giant rodent bore down on her, through the trees came her rescue: a very wet Mr Norrington slid between fallen girl and monstrous beast, sword drawn. Furious at this new distraction, the monster rose onto its back feet, ready to strike with its claws. James swung his sword, missing its nose by a fraction of and inch, air whistling. "Back," he cried, swinging again. "Back, you silly animal." As can be imagined, something fighting back was an entirely new experience for the creature, and, as a rodent, it decided that flight was a better—and safer—option, turned tail and disappeared, chuck-chuck-chucking as it went.

When he was sure it had gone and there were no others about, James sheathed his sword and let out a breath. "Giant squirrels. Wasn't expecting that." He turned to the girl. "All right, Miss Granger?"

"I am now," she replied with a smile, taking the proffered hand and hauling herself to her feet. "What about Harry and Ron? They were taken, too."

"They're safe. They are with the _Star_."

She looked up at him in surprise. "But how?"

He chuckled. "Once they found out we were not nuts, they let us alone."

"So I didn't really need saving, then."

He shook his head. "They have very sharp teeth, however." Then she noticed the blood on his sleeve.

"Are you all right?"

"It may need a few stitches, but it is nothing to worry about."

"Stitches?"

"Excuse me?"

"Sorry. It's just—I thought only Muggles used stitches. Healers use potions to do their healing."

His spine stiffened. _Yes of course. Another slip-up, you blundering idiot. Well done._ "Yes, well... You might say I am a little more resistant to potions than most. And seeing as I can't _legally_ do magic, stitches are something that I can do for myself." They were nearing the edge of the trees now.

"You can't legally do magic?" What was wrong with him, spouting all this information unbidden? Had he let his shell grow thin?

He gave her a sideward glance, accurately feigning rueful amusement. "There was a bit of an incident—but the Ministry wouldn't want me telling you about _that_. Let it suffice to be said that I may have been a little, ah, cavalier in some of my past endeavours. Ah, here we are," he said with no small relief as they came to the beach and her questions were silenced.

However, the boat was at least a chord, or two hundred feet off shore. Hermione could make out Harry and Ron waving from the deck. So that was why Mr Norrington was so wet, then. He had sailed the boys out to safety and then swam back to find her. If there was not infatuation, there was certainly a strong admiration blooming in her young chest.

"Would you do the honours?—Unless you would rather swim, that is."

She smiled and waved her wand, and they floated to the deck of the _Fallen Star_. "Hermione, you're okay," her friends exclaimed, and they began to talk excitedly as they hauled up the sails and set on the return trip. When they were a safe enough distance away, James went into the cuddy and brought out a treat he had ready for the celebration of his _Star_'s maiden voyage: a six-pack of butterbeer to share. His young crew received it with exclamations of gratitude—apparently they were very fond of it—and clinked their bottles together in appreciation of a fine adventure. While they were discussing what had happened, James rolled up his sleeve to have a look at the damage. It was bleeding rather a lot, and looked rather deep, but it was nothing permanently deleterious. Ten or twenty stitches and he would be fine. He dipped one of the bandages he had gotten out into the water and set to cleaning himself up as best he could, then wrapped a clean bandage around his arm.

"So what _were_ they, anyway?" Ron was asking.

"Ground squirrels, like the captain said," replied their personal encyclopaedia. "They're called chipmunks, I think. They live mostly in North America. There's only one species in that lives on another continent, and they live in Siberia: genus _Tamias sibiricus_."

"_And_ on that island: genus _Bloody-ginormous-vicious-beast-from-Hell_."

"Poetry, Mr Weasely." They looked back at their captain and laughed.

Hermione spotted the bandage wrapped around his forearm as he steered the tiller. "How is your arm?"

He surveyed the wrapping. It was already smattered with blood. "It is bleeding a bit, but it should stop on its own; I've seen enough injuries like it. I will treat it properly when I return to Hagrid's."

"You shoulda seen it, Hermione," Ron said with admiration. "The thing just clamped down on him and threw him twenty feet. And he got right up like nothing happened."

"I've been thrown farther," Norrington supplied.

"Yeah, but not by a giant squirrel, I reckon." That was certainly true.

"But what made it so angry?" Hermione wondered. "You said they left you alone once they realised you weren't nuts."

"Yes, well, unfortunately _I _didn't realise there was no danger until it was too late. You would think I'd know better, living with Hagrid and dealing with dangerous creatures right and left, but nope. Haven't learned a thing." He swallowed, thinking of the large egg lying hidden in the cuddy, the real reason for the creature's upset. He had stumbled on a whole nest of them and, thinking of Hagrid, had grabbed one—there were at least half a dozen—before meeting up with the boys on the beach. No sooner had he been certain of safety than what must surely have been the distraught mother had come upon him. He had managed to keep his treasure from breaking during his fall, however, and was able to scare the beast away. He considered it a gift for Hagrid. The mystery that lay inside, coupled with the great possibility that it was probably dangerous, was sure to bring a smile to the great man's face. But it would probably be better if he kept that bit from his young crew. He didn't fancy getting a scolding from children less than half his age just then, thanks.

"I bet Hagrid'll be eager to come see them," Hermione echoed this thoughts.

"_See_ them?" Ron scoffed. "He'd probably put saddles on them and make us ride them in class."

"Good idea, Mr Weasely. I'll be sure to recommend it to Hagrid." A look of horror crossed the redhead's face, and the others laughed. James was, of course, kidding.

He let them talk among themselves for a while and let himself revel in the wind that blew through his hair and the pitch and roll of the _Star_ as she skipped merrily over the waves. This was how it was supposed to be. It felt as though a distant part of himself were suddenly alive, and a refreshing wave of memories washed over him. _That's right, the pirate's name was Jack Sparrow. Hard fellow not to recall. And Elizabeth's eyes are brown, or course. How could I forget?_ It was working. He could remember again. And with the memories came the whispers of his former self. The bravery, the fortitude, the sense of dignity and the ability to achieve anything, to be a great man, admired and recognised. He had definitely changed into a different man since then, but it was good to know that the hero he had once considered himself was still there somewhere, and could be summoned should the need ever arise. But with the return of his old self came also the certainty that he was happy with who he had become, and he at last threw away the worries he had had about all the changes his character seemed to have undergone. It seemed that every day were better than the last. He reminded himself that it was bound to end soon, but for the moment he was content to enjoy it. For the moment he was content to be happy.

All too soon, they were pulling up against the dock and their voyage was over. The _Star_ was moored and, hoping the giant squid wouldn't bother her, they trudged back up to Hagrid's hut to finish their butterbeer in one another's company.

"Where's Hagrid gone off to?"

"He mentioned something about a three-headed serpent."

"Oh _no_," the three of them groaned at once, and they began listing examples of Hagrid's unfortunate fascination with dangerous creatures. "Remember Norbert the dragon?"

James listened amusedly to their tales of dragons and hippogriffs and giant spiders and a vicious three-headed dog named Fluffy, all the while tending to the fire. He had gotten out his curved medical needle and thread, and was busy sterilizing said needle in the flames. He had already taken off his bandages and given the wound a proper cleaning. The children's conversation trailed off as they turned to see what he was doing, and watching in fascination as he threaded the needle. "D'you need any help?" asked Harry uncertainly.

"Nope," was all they got. He took a steadying draught of butterbeer, though he knew it wasn't strong enough to affect him, and, brow creased in concentration, he pinched the edges of the wound together. He was about to send the needle through when Hermione interrupted.

"Ohh," she quavered, voice shaking nervously, "Shouldn't we get Madam Pomfrey or something?"

"I'm fine," he said in that same distracted voice. "Goodness knows I've bothered the woman enough." There was a beat of silence before he suddenly looked up at them, concentration broken. "My apologies. It never occurred to me that I might be making you uncomfortable." He made to put the needle on the metal plate beside him and forget about it.

However, not wanting to look weak in front of the midshipmen, Hermione stopped him again. "No, it's okay."

His eyebrows rose, and Harry and Ron looked at her in surprise. "Are you sure? There will be some blood."

"I know. My parents are dentists. I've seen them rip open a person's mouth, take out teeth that don't belong there, and then stitch it back up again. I was just thinking it's bound to hurt a bit, and maybe she could give you something for the pain."

"Ah. Well I can assure you that I have given myself this same treatment on numerous occasions, without the aid of medicine. But, if it makes you feel better..." He took his bottle of painkillers out of his pocket, popped off the lid with his thumb, and tipped a dose into his mouth. "All right?" Hearing no protest, he proceeded. He took up the needle, pinched the skin together, and sewed himself up, nice and clean. It went just as he'd known it would: quick and, by his standards, painless. He was done before the painkillers had taken effect...although he was worried for a moment that his audience would swoon if they did not stop holding their breaths. "And that," he concluded, cutting the thread, "is how the Muggles do it."

"Dad'd go bonkers if he saw that," said Ron, staring in awe. "He loves Muggle stuff."

"Yes, well I suppose they are somewhat fascinating, aren't they?"

"Yeah, especially when they do stuff like _that_." At last he seemed to have found his way into young Weasely's favour. "That was brilliant."

Smiling somewhat, James wrapped his arm in fresh bandages, and the job was done. He raised his bottle of butterbeer, nodded at them, and downed the remaining contents in one gulp. At last it was beginning to grow dark, and it came time for the young magical folk to go back to the school. "Bye, Mr Norrington. Today was fantastic."

"Don't think you're done with the adventures yet, mates," he called after them. "I may have need of your services again. Bring some friends along, if you like. But, ah," he dropped his voice, "I think it might be best if you didn't tell anyone about what we found on the island today, at least not yet. Let that wait until we hear from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures whether they want that fact known or not." They agreed and, promising to visit soon, they set off up the path to the castle, passing Hagrid, who was on his way home, carrying a large wooden crate which was emitting a loud hissing.

"All righ', James?" he puffed, setting down the crate.

"Grand. So you were able to procure a Runespoor after all?"

"Ar, an' I got it at a decent price too. Can't tell yeh where from, mind, but I trust 'em, I do. Blimey, is that the _Star_ I see on the water a'ready? Fer not usin' magic, yeh sure got 'er done quick, an' don't she look beau'iful?"

"I had some help," James replied with a nod at the distant shapes of his crew as they hiked in to supper. "We took her for her maiden voyage this afternoon. Went out to explore the island."

"No one's bin there in ages. Izzat what happened ter yer arm?" he asked, suddenly catching sight of the bandages.

James mouth twisted into a rueful smile. "Wait til you hear."

* * *

And thus his days passed.

Within a few days they had heard back from the Ministry that, because James had discovered the creatures on the island, he had the rights to name and study them. Having little interest in research, he left the task to a more than eager Hagrid. The Ministry had also given the school permission to let students visit the island to see them, as it would likely be educational. It would become like a wizard zoo, almost. Another place students could go in their spare time, like Hogsmeade. And of course it would become a focus point in their Care of Magical Creatures classes—right after they got done with the Runespoor, that is.

To make travel to and from the island easier, James was commissioned by Dumbledore to build a small fleet of boats for class purposes, and would be conducting sailing lessons for anyone who wanted to learn. With the help of his eager crew—which had grown to include Ron's younger sister Ginny, his elder twin brothers Fred and George, and a round-faced, rather accident-prone Gryffindor by the name of Neville Longbottom—he built five twenty foot cat-boats; four for class use, and one exclusively for Hagrid. The _Star_ was named flagship, and was for his own private excursions, although he led the first few Herbology trips using her until he could get enough students trained to sail themselves. What surprised him, however, was that the students who signed up for sailing lessons took to calling him "Professor."

Suddenly James felt like he belonged here. He had become a real part of Hogwarts: he was finally doing something that seemed to have a purpose, simply by doing what he loved. If they ever found a way for him to get back to his own world, he wasn't sure he would take it: he could not have been happier.

* * *

There. Next chapter is most of the way done, unless my pencil gets the best of me again. I dunno when I'll have time to post it, but if I can get to an internet café I'll see what I can do.

See you when I get back!

Review!


	22. Of Fears Forgotten

Sorry for the wait, everyone. I had little luck finding any internet cafes at decent prices or atmospheres (I found a really shady-looking one). The Hotel Goldenes Rose in Dinkelsbühl, Germany had a computer that you could use for €3 for half an hour. It should have been enough—ten pages, thirty minutes, and my magic fingers: no problem! I didn't count on the rearranged keyboard or my timesaving shortcuts (crtl I for italics, and end to null it, etc.) So instead of doing ten pages in twenty minutes, I did less than three in half an hour. I'm back now, for one day before I leave for another trip. Jeebis, I'm busier this summer than I ever was during school. And then, college. Where does it end?!

Anyway, enjoy the update, and don't expect any more for a while. Phew!

**Of Fears Unknown**

**Chapter Twenty-One: Of Fears Forgotten**

Despite the normalcy James now felt, there was never a lack of excitement at Hogwarts. Barely a week had gone by since his discovery of the Chipperphants—Hagrid had named them—and it felt like a month. He was grateful when at last a free moment came his way.

Being a bright, sunny midmorning, it was the perfect chance to catch up on his reading, and he sat now at the base of the Whomping Willow, looking through a battered old textbook. A group of students were oggling at him as they passed, wondering how on earth he could be sitting there without getting mauled. He was reading _A Standard Book of Spells, Grade 3_ by a Miranda Goshawk. He had bought several of the school textbooks in Hogsmeade secondhand—well, fourth-hand, actually, but as long as the words were still legible, he was content. He might not have been able to do magic, but he was curious to know just what these students were being taught. He also wanted to know what he was up against, and whether he would be able to defend himself. He wanted to know exactly what each spell meant and its effects. _Hmm...deflects off of mirrors. Perhaps if I polished my sword enough..._

Chrystafi was dozing beside him, occasionally twitching an ear to hear his parent turning a page. After well over an hour, James was beginning to get an ache in his neck, and was content to watch the giant squid sunning itself on the shore of the lake, the spellbook laying momentarily forgotten in his lap. He sighed. Normally he did not like lazy days, but with five boats nearly halfway done, this was bliss. Not an adventure in sight—except maybe the boyish urge to tickle the squid's tentacles—and strangely enough, he was glad for it. He yawned and stretched the cricks out of his neck. What a fine day it was to do nothing. The Whomping Willow seemed to be thinking along the same line, for it gave an enormous stretch that went from the tips of its leaves right down to the roots James was sitting on. He could feel them moving underneath him.

With a cry of alarm, he suddenly sank out of sight. He tumbled down an earthy slope and sat for a moment, dazed, before getting to his feet and looking around. He had fallen through a large gap in the Willow's roots, which he had not noticed before. Chrystafi had stuck his head through the hole and was looking at him with a startled expression. "You're going to get stuck if you try to come in after me," he said to the foal, reaching up to pet him reassuringly. "You're not nearly as small as you used to be. Although I must admit, whatever made this hole must be just as big." He imagined it had been made by a chipperphant—but no, no chipperphant could fit through that gap in the roots. He turned to have a look around, and found to his surprise that instead of a burrow, he was in a very low tunnel. The spot where he was standing was the only place there was room enough for him to do so. _Interesting. I shall have to tell Hagrid._ He was about to climb back out when, deep in the darkness, he spied a small, faint light bobbing farther and farther away. The curiosity to see where the tunnel led, not to mention find out what that light was, suddenly consumed him. Sternly ordering the young unicorn not to follow him, he set off into the dark tunnel.

It was black as pitch, and even when his eyes had begun to adjust, it was still almost impossible to see where he was going. He could only follow the little light, which did nothing to help him see, and keep a guiding hand on the wall. The going was slow. Being such a tall man, he was bent almost double, and even then his hair and shoulders scraped against the ceiling. It didn't help and that he kept tripping over invisible roots and rocks hidden in the dark.

It was a very long tunnel, James realised, sitting down to rest after tripping for perhaps the hundredth time. His back had begun to ache from being bent over for so long, and he was beginning to think it might be easier to crawl—but then his knees would be hurting. He looked ahead and saw that the little light had gotten even further away, but as long as he could still see it, he knew the tunnel went straight. So what was that light, anyway? He imagined it was a fairy. Hagrid had told him all about fairies, although he didn't seem to find them very interesting. But what was a fairy doing underground? And why was he following it? It suddenly dawned on him how careless he was being. For all he knew, he was in the lair of a giant beast, being lured into its clutches by a little light, like a small fish to an angler.

No, wait. In his books, he had seen something like this—yes, the very first spell in the first book: _Lumos. _It was to make the wand like a torch. That wasn't a fairy or a giant underground angler; it was a wand. Someone else was in the tunnel. Whether or not they knew he was there, he couldn't be sure—it occurred to him that they might be leading him into some sort of trap, although what or why, he could not guess. Whatever the reason, someone was here that should not be, and as a member of Hogwarts staff and therefore a protector of the students' and school's safety, it was his duty to find out what was going on.

The furlongs passed. _Must have gone at least two miles by now,_ he estimated, with no visible end in sight. _Judging by the direction—I must be under Hogsmeade._ The revelation did not make him feel any better. If there was a tunnel connecting Hogwarts to Hogsmeade, it could be a way for intruders to get in—or for students to sneak out. The Whomping Willow had no doubt been placed to guard the tunnel, but what if someone were to get past it like he had? He had to know where it let out. Just as he was thinking this, the little light suddenly disappeared. He would have to go the rest of the way by feel alone.

At long last, the ground began to rise, as did the ceiling—James could stand up straight, much to his relief. The tunnel twisted, and he spied a patch of dim light through a small opening. He had finally come to the end of the tunnel. He emerged into a disordered, dusty room on the ground floor of what must have been an old house. From the looks of things, it had long since fallen into a state of disrepair. The wall paper was peeling off in great, ugly ribbons, and there were stains all over the floor, some of which looked remarkably like blood. Every piece of furniture was broken as though it had been smashed. Time certainly hadn't done that, and James' hand closed apprehensively around the sword on his hip. He looked around the room, hoping to see something—anything—that might tell him where he was. But the windows were boarded up and offered him no view of the town outside. Only a few rays of sunshine fit through the spaces between the boards. Realisation hit him like cannon fire. The only boarded-up building in Hogsmeade he knew of was reputedly the most haunted place in all of Scotland: the Shrieking Shack. Considering that someone like the Bloody Baron haunted safe and cheerful Hogwarts, James didn't fancy meeting whatever spooks and spectres were lurking in this place. But ghosts had not destroyed this room, either.

To the right was a door leading to a shadowy hallway. James' better judgement told him he should not be there, but a creak from upstairs dismissed the thoughts from his mind. Someone was here! What if someone lived here? He would have a hard time explaining how and why he had broken into someone's home—but then he caught himself. Who would live in this sty with no company but the ghosts? The person a floor above could be no one else than whom he had been following. He moved as silently as he could up the crumbling staircase, ever careful of trick-steps like the disappearing one in the castle. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust, except for the set of footprints that revealed a shiny hardwood floor. He came to a dark landing and saw another door ahead, outlined by sunlight. It was slightly ajar. Silently, he crept forward and peered through. The room appeared to be empty. Commodore James Norrington knew better than to be fooled. He allowed himself a small smile of triumph before pushing open the door and entering.

He had come into a once-pleasant bedroom, more brightly lit by sunlight than the rest of the house. His eyes were immediately drawn to a magnificent four-poster bed with dusty hangings. "You can close that door now," he said conversationally to the empty room. "Unless, of course, you think you will be needing it." He heard the door swing closed behind him, and the click of a lock. No escaping now. "I was wondering when we might be seeing one another again. I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about me."

"Hard to forget the person who ruined the reputation of the wizarding world's purest-blooded family." With a smirk, he turned around to face his enemy: black-cloaked Lucius Malfoy, wearing a look of pure hatred. James wasn't phased. "So you knew it was me, did you?"

"Come now, I know I'm popular, but the only one who ever swore eternal vengeance was you. I'm flattered, really."

Malfoy's grey eyes flashed. "You should be. It's not every day that I waste my time on commoners like you.'

"Then I'll be sure to make it worth your while."

"Hardly. You cannot even do magic. I thought Dumbledore would have drawn the line with that oaf Gamekeeper of his, but to hear that he's hired a Mudblood onto the staff—what's worse, a Mudblood who cannot do magic—he may as well start hiring Muggles. It seems just anyone can be given a job there these days. The board of governors won't be pleased to hear about that. They will, of course, request that Dumbledore ask you to leave. It he does not comply—I'm afraid he'll have to be sacked. The safety of the students and the purity of their school must come first, after all."

"Are purity and reputation all you ever think about? What about your son? Haven't you got any room for him?"

"Do not pretend you care! You are to blame for everything that has happened. It is because of my most generous funding that he is receiving the treatment he has been prescribed."

"What about helping him recover? What about being his father? Why aren't you with him right now, reassuring him and encouraging him?"

"Sentimental men do not survive for long in the real world."

Norrington drew his sword. "We'll see how long I last."

Malfoy laughed derisively. "A sword? Really? Do you really think _that_ will stop me? You really are a Muggle, aren't you? This will be easier than I thought."

_Yeah, keep laughing, Malfoy. This Muggle has something no one else does._

"All right, enough fooling yourself, Mudblood," Lucius said with a suddenly straight face, pulling out his wand. "Time to make you pay. _Incendio._" A jet of fire shot out of his wand.

In one swift move, James blocked the attack. He saw Malfoy's surprised face through the tongues of flame and smirked in triumph. "Not so helpless after all, am I?"

"We'll see about that. _Defodio._" A bolt of orange arced toward him an, unsure of its effects, he chose to dodge it instead. There was a _bang!_, and he looked back to see deep gouges in the wall where his head had been.

And so it went: Lucius continued to cast spells and James continued to dodge or parry. There were spells that spat out green sparks, spells that made various objects explode, and even spells that shot balls of fire at him, leaving smouldering patches where they had eventually landed. James knew he was fighting a losing battle. He could only move defensively, and had not possibility of landing any hits of his own. His adversary was only toying with him, and he knew it. Surely more powerful or damaging spells would be coming his way once Malfoy grew bored of this.

Then, hope!

The wizard cried, "_Duro_," and slashed his wand through the air. James brought up his sword and, to the surprise of both, the curse bounced off the polished blade and shot back toward its caster. Malfoy barely had time to jump out of the way—the wardrobe behind him was hit instead, and with a crackling sound, it turned to stone. The blonde turned his shocked gaze to the shining sword. "So you've enchanted it, have you?"

"No, just polished it. It is a regular sword."

"Then you are using your own magic illegally—although I cannot say I expected otherwise."

"I am not using magic, either."

"Then what?"

"I fight you unaided."

"Oh enough of this. _Avis oppugno!_" Large shapes flew out of the wand and shot toward him. They were birds. Carrion birds. They had come back. They were going to finish what they had started. Malfoy had the pleasure of seeing James hesitate for a moment, looking afraid, before bringing up his blade and slashing them out of the air. He speared on and threw it at the surprised wizard, hitting him full in the face.

"Taken a page out of your son's book, I see—or rather, gave him the book in the first place."

"But of course. You can't expect a doting father not to indulge his son."

"Doting? Hardly."

"How's this for doting? _Stupefy!" _Red lightning arced through the air. James brought up his sword sideways across his body, as though to bunt a ball. If he could just get the angle right... The spell ricocheted off the blade. The next moment, Malfoy crumpled fo the ground, stunned.

_I hit him_, James thought in a mixture of triumph and confusion. _But—it looked as though it missed._ He shook the thought away. The spell had obviously grazed him at least. An opportunity was an opportunity. In an instant, the tip of his blade was at Malfoy's throat. A small trickle of blood ran down his neck. "First blood. We are finished." He had won.

The victory was short lived, however—he froze at the feel of a wand at his temple. Malfoy was smiling coldly. He had not been stupified at all. James cursed himself for having been fooled so easily. "Did you really think I couldn't have disarmed you in the first moments of the duel? How could something like you stand the slightest chance against a wizard of my power? You've only gotten this far because I, ah, _indulged_ you. But enough playing our little game. Time for you to see what a real wizard can do."

James did not lower his sword. If he could just whip the blade to the left, he night be able to knock the wand away before Malfoy could cast another spell, or at least wound the arm holding it. But before be could act, he felt a stinging, a pain in his face and neck, and realised too late that Malfoy had already cast. He was as much alarmed as in pain. A spell without an incantation! He could feel the skin beginning to tear and blood beginning to pour, and then—it stopped. There were no wounds, and there was no pain. Instead it was Malfoy who fell back, his face in his hands. Blood dripped through his fingers to make red indents in the dust. he took his wand and pointed it at himself, and muttered a songlike incantation three times. The wounds slowly began to heal. James stood by and let him do this, as the curse had looked fatal. At last Malfoy removed his bloody hands from his face—it looked as though he had been slashed by a sword—to look at James in shock. "No wand, no magic, no countercurse," he sputtered. "What _are_ you?"

"Nothing you've ever seen before," James growled, sword at the ready.

"And one I will never see again," Malfoy replied in suit quickly regaining composure. He wiped the blood out of his eyes, swung his wand, and cried, "_Expelliarmus!"_ James was pushed backward, and his sword went flying. "It's time for you to learn the consequences of meddling in the matters of your betters." Before James could retaliate, Malfoy had already shouted, "_Crucio!"_ James fell to the ground with a scream of agony, a sound he hadn't known he could make, writhing in pain. It felt like his bones were on fire, and his skull was pounding as though someone were trying to split his head with a dull ax—only all ten times worse! He didn't think he could last much longer. After what seemed like hours—really only a few moments—Malfoy lifted his wand, and instantly the pain stopped, leaving James' body full of aches as he lay curled up on the floor, panting for breath. Through the blood pounding in his ears, he thought he heard a distant roaring sound. It seemed vaguely familiar. He had little time to ponder this: Malfoy was talking. "Had enough, have you?" he said with a cold laugh. "You've never felt that before, I imagine, even from Draco. I'll bet you liked that. After all, you haven't asked me to stop. Shall I do it longer this time? Will you beg me to stop like my wife begged the Ministry? Oh but I won't stop, no. Not until you've gone as mad as the world thinks my son has. I'll make you wish you'd never set foot where you don't belong. _Crucio_." Again Norrington convulsed in pain, but he would not let himself beg. He kept himself sane by repeating that mantra over and over. After an indefinitely longer time, Malfoy again lifted his wand. "Tut tut, Mr Norrington, I'm afraid you're not meeting any of my expectations here. I'm just going to have to keep on punishing you until you do it right."

"Never. You cannot sway me," James grunted, panting heavily and struggling to sit up.

"You are a fool. I know what you are and I know what you are not, and you are _not_ innocent of my son's accusations."

"I never tried to hurt him. That was his own delusion."

Lucius's eyes gleamed and a wicked smile spread across his pointed face. "And yet you do not deny his other accusation. What did he call you? Ah yes, a were-ferret. Tell me, is it true?"

"Even if such preposterousness could be true, do you think I would tell you so?"

"But of course. And most willingly. _Imperio_." James was suddenly filled with a most wonderful happy, warm, floating cloudy feeling, and he instantly forgot the situation he was in. "_Tell the truth,_" said a little voice in his mind.

"It's true," he heard himself answering, and suddenly he snapped back to reality. What happened? Why had he told him? Had he been controlled? He was filled with horror what he could be manipulated so easily. Malfoy was laughing.

"I knew it," he said, adjusting his cloak. "You see, Mudblood, there is no fighting true power. You would do well to respect it."

"I will never respect power like yours. If anything, it should be the other way around."

Malfoy's mocking smile became an enraged snarl. "_Crucio!_" he cried a third time, and a third time James thought he was dying. "If you will not respect me, then fear me!" he was distantly aware of the wizard bellowing. "You should have feared me from the beginning!" If it was possible, the pain was getting worse. His insides were being torn out, his head was going to explode, and in his mind a horrible, horrible ringing that drowned out the rest of Malfoy's rant about trespassing on the affairs of his superordinates. The ringing in his head grew louder and louder, and it became increasingly difficult to think clearly. Each time James attempted to think up a plan of escape or retaliation, they either made little sense, or ended in an entirely different goal, such as catching the little fairy he had been following not long ago, or teaching Hagrid's chipperphant how to be ridden once it hatched, or throwing a nice little tea party and Malfoy wasn't invited. He felt himself teetering on the edge of a great black pit. But Malfoy did not lift his wand. He continued to yell words that no longer made sense in James' mind. He was going to push his victim into the void, where he would fall forever, never to return. James felt himself leaning farther and farther over the edge, and was beginning to slip when there was suddenly a pounding on the door, and voices shouting outside. Startled, Lucius whirled around, breaking the spell, and Norrington's pain was ended.

"Who's in there? Who's screaming?" called a voice on the other side of the door. "I know for a fact it isn't any ghost."

"We have reason to believe you have a member of Hogwarts staff with you. If he was the one whose cries have drawn the attention of the entire Hogsmeade community, then you will be caught and dragged to the pits of Azkeban faster than you can wave your wand—That is _if_ I don't wring your sorry neck first."

_Remus and Severus!_ James realised with relief. His friends had come! The thought brought him new strength and he struggled to his feet. "Even when you've won, you've lost," he said with a hollow laugh. "Even someone like me can have friends in high places."

"That—d'you call it a school?—is hardly what would be called a high place."

Lupin and Snape were banging on the door, which seemed to be locked so that even magic could not open it. By now a third voice had joined theirs. "This is the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and you will open this door at once or suffer dire consequences."

"They have you now. Even if you apparate, they will have everything they need to know about just what kind of family the Malfoys really are."

"Only if you can remember it." james lunged for his sword, but in the same instant Malfoy's wand was against his temple, and he snarled, "_Obliviate!_" Norrington was thrown back, crashing into the bed. With a loud _crack!_, Malfoy had disappeared.

"They've disapparated," came Lupin's voice from the other side of the door. "Get that door open!" A moment later, there was a loud, fiery explosion that blew the door right off its hinges, and in walked Snape, wand raised, followed by Remus and a disapproving McGonagall. They looked around at the damaged room in a shocked silence. There seemed to be no one there. Had the mysterious person been alone? Or had they taken James with them? Then, seeing the pile of splinters that had once been a bed, McGonagall hurried toward the hole in its middle. There they found the battered and beaten body of the Sailing Master.

"Oh my goodness," cried the deputy headmistress as she knelt down beside him. "Are you all right, Mr Norrington?" There was no response from the still form. "James," she touched his shoulder. "James, please say something." There was a long silence. Then, a muffled groan of pain.

"He's hurt," said Lupin, and he and Snape helped him to sit up. James was holding his head with one hand, eyes squeezed shut in a grimace. "How bad is it, James? Are you all right?" The man remained silent. "James?" Lupin asked again.

James suddenly looked up at him, looking surprised. "S-s-sorry," he said in a shaking voice. "Have y-you been talking to _me_ all this t-time?"

"Well I don't see anyone else called James in this room," Lupin replied with a comforting smile.

Norrington's brows knitted together. "James?"

Lupin's smile fell slightly. "Yes. Your name."

"M-my name?"

"Yes." McGonagall was beginning to look concerned.

"Oh." He stared at the bloody floor confusedly. Then he looked back up at the three. "And who are you?" The professors looked at one another in alarm. His memory had been erased.

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Please review.


	23. Remembering Without Remembering

**Hey all! I'm really sorry it's been so long since my last update. When I got to college I figured I'd get back to writing once I settled in. But for some reason, I could never write, even after I began to get comfortable. It made me sad, but now that I'm on break I can suddenly write again! (It's not that I was too busy or anything... I actually had a lot of free time.)**

**When last we left our hero, he had been attacked by an unknown presence and left without a single memory. After being away from his own world for so long, memories are the most important thing James can have. What if he doesn't get them back?**

**Chapter Twenty-Two: They Aren't Mine**

He sat there thinking—or rather, not knowing what to think—as he stared unseeingly out the window across from him, the only patch of colour in the expanse of white. He had not an idea what this place was, not why he was here—nor, for that matter, who he was. There was nothing. He wondered for a moment if he had died, before his stomach rumbled loudly, and he resolved that the dead did not hunger. But what, then? He tried to remember the last time he had been conscious. It was vague at best. A blur. Someone had found him—three someones, apparently friends of his. But if that was so, why had he no prior recollection of them? Before he could learn much apart from his name, he had succumbed to a great fit of pain—or had he already been in pain?—ah yes, it was both. Then had he been attacked prior to being discovered? But if that was the case, who had attacked him—and had he deserved it? A name was no longer enough. He was overcome with a need to know what kind of man he was.

"Look alive there, James," said a voice. "You have visitors."

A woman came into view, a nurse by the look of it, and he vaguely realised he must be in a hospital. She was leading behind her two men and what looked like a young horse. The fact that one was a very old man with a very long beard and very purple robes, and the other well beyond human proportions, made their equine company seem almost normal, and indeed he was not surprised to see a small crystalline horn on its head. He was vexed, however, as to why it rushed toward him with a cry of delight only to shrink back again as though it had mistaken him.

"It would seem," said the elder gentleman, "that young Chrystafi has sensed a change in you, Mr Norrington." He and the larger man took seats beside the bed. James eyes them warily. "Do you know who I am?"

He wracked what little memory he had. "I beg your pardon, sir, I do not."

"I am Albus Dumbledore. And you have lost your memory."

"Have I hit my head?"

"You were attacked, Mr Norrington."

"By whom?"

"We do not yet know. That is probably why they obliviated you."

"Wot?"

"They erased your memory, Mr Norrington, so that we could not find them."

"Do you know why I was attacked?"

"It was not a random attack, that much is certain. The person who did this lured you specifically to the place where you were found."

"Mayhaps I did deserve it then..."

The large man snorted. "The on'y one thinks ye done bad is the one what did it, an' may he soon rot in Azkeban."

James nodded. "I'd do the same he did if I faced Azkeban."

"You remember it then?" Dumbledore asked with intrigue.

Norrington looked surprised. "Azkeban—it is a gaol, isn't it? One no witch or wizard hopes to see in their lifetime." The two exchanged bewildered expressions. It seemed James' magical vocabulary had not suffered with his memory. "Had I been missing very long?"

"Only for a couple of hours. We never knew you were absent."

"Then how did anyone know to come looking for me?" James asked in surprise.

"Your friend the Whomping Willow took care of that."

"I nev'r heard it roar like that afore," the large man murmured.

"It must have sensed you were in danger. When we heard it, we hurried down to see what was the matter. That is where another of your friends pointed us in your direction." Dumbledore patted the unicorn. "As soon as he saw us, he led us to a hole at the base of the Willow; the entrance to a tunnel leading to a building in a nearby town."

"Th' Shrieking Shack. Nev'r was a more spooky place'n the most haun'ed part of Scotland."

"Hagrid is right. The person who attacked you used the rumours of the haunted building to disguise the sounds of your struggle—although from the state of you, I would imaging that you were able to somehow defend yourself from most of the attacks. Lupin thinks that you used your sword to parry the magic."

James' brows came together. "Lupin?" He concentrated for a moment. "Oh yes, he did mention that possibility..." he replied more to himself than to anyone else.

"When's this, on th' way back from th' Shrieking Shack?" asked the larger man.

"It was...in a hallway."

Dumbledore looked at him with interest. "Is that so? Describe this hallway, if you please."

James closed his eyes to better see the image. "There is a lot of grey stone and white marble. It's brightly lit—there are windows overlooking a courtyard. It is a sunny day."

Dumbledore was on his feet in an instant, blue eyes twinkling and cheeks a bright red with excitement.

"Wha's wrong?"

"James has just described a corridor not far from my office. His memories may not be as obliviated as we think, for that place is not close to the route between the entrance to the castle and the hospital wing, so he could not have been there since he was enchanted. Hagrid, send for Snape. He must prepare a reverse memory potion at once!" They were gone in an instant.

* * *

James woke that night to find them surrounding him—familiar faces that he did not recognise, yet somehow knew as though from a dream. The orange glow of a lantern among them did little to penetrate the deep darkness that blanketed the infirmary. An elegant, kind-looking elderly witch was sitting beside him. "The potion is ready, James," she told him softly.

"Yet you look concerned," he observed, and he realised that everyone wore solemn expressions, despite the possibility of his regaining his memories. "What is it?"

"There may be an unpleasant side effect," said a man who had been identified as Lupin. James' brow creased. "The last time you had a potion, you had a very violent reaction. You were in pain so severe that you could barely move, or even speak. There is a strong likelihood of its happening again, and I—we don't want to see you in that kind of pain again, especially considering that we only just now discovered you in pain."

"You have a decision before you, James," said a grave Dumbledore.

"Take the potion to aid you in remembering and risk the pain, or try to remember without it and risk not remembering all you need to remember."

"Must I make my decision now?" James queried with uncertainty as he looked around at them with wide, green eyes, and he suddenly seemed much younger than he had been.

"There is only a very small window during which this potion will have any effect," said a voice from the shadows beyond the circle of orange light. "If you miss this chance, you will never get another."

James was silent for a long time as he fought bitterly with himself. At last, his face dark, he lifted his head to look at Lupin with hollow, resigned eyes. "It's only pain. It can't hurt me." Lupin held his gaze for a few tense moments before he nodded. From the darkness, a small crystal bottle was passed toward him. Inside was a sparkling, swirling silver and white liquid. It gave off a faint glow that mingled with the orange light to make gold. He stared at it for a moment, bracing himself for the pain that had been foretold. Scents from the potion wafted up toward him, setting his face aglow—leather, and tar, and sea spray, and wood, and the smell of a storm on the wind. They set a stirring in him, and without another thought, he tipped his head back and poured the contents of the vial down his throat, and the burning, icy taste of the stars slowly spread through his whole being, and set the tips of his ears and fingers tingling. First came only a bright light—but then, in a single instant, millions of pictures flooded his head. He squeezed his eyes shut against the dizziness and shook his head with gritted teeth in the hopes of dispersing the sensation. Someone gently pried the shimmering crystal flask from his shaking hand, and he was vaguely glad, for it was beautiful, and he did not want to break it. Image after image—Chrystafi the unicorn; three children; people and places he did not recognise; Dumbledore's solemn face; and so much more. So many pictures—what did they all mean?

A dull pain had begun in his forehead, and was slowly spreading to the rest of his body. It grew in intensity, and he was soon unable to make sense of the images flashing through his mind. Soon he could not discern pain from memory—it seemed as though all he could remember, all he had ever known, was pain. He doubled over, gasping, and was distantly aware of a hand on his shoulder. Someone was talking to him, asking him something, but he didn't know who, and could not understand what they were saying.

"What should we do?" McGonagall looked to Dumbledore with concern. "Should we give him something for the pain?"

"We cannot," said the voice from the shadows. "Not yet. Not until the potion has done its job."

The potion was doing its job all right. The jumble of images was beginning to take a vague shape. Suddenly he straightened and looked beyond the ring of wizards and witches. "Severus," he rumbled warmly, "come out of the dark." Abruptly, he fell back to his pillow and said no more.

* * *

Whether or not Mr Norrington would have remembered anything more without the aid of the potion is unknown. It is possible that his pain had been in vain—yet at the same time, it is possible that he may not have recovered very many of his memories, and as the reader will discover, memories, especially the older ones, are of utmost importance. If the developmental and experiential memories are lost, so is the person who was sculpted by them. Values, mindsets, opinions, even morals may be drastically changed, fueling a completely different personality and, thus, the person himself.

"It's like they're not mine."

"Why do you say that?"

"I...can see them in my head. I can see them very clearly, but... I cannot connect them. Certainly, some fit together like puzzle pieces, but there is still a jagged line separating them, preventing them from creating a complete picture. I cannot connect them, and I cannot connect _with_ them. It is like I am seeing someone else's life. That man knew you as 'friend'. But I— I feel no warmth toward you. I don't know—as though a friend has been telling me all about you, but for all I've heard, I haven't met you personally."

"I understand how you feel."

"Oh—yes—forgive me. You must feel as though you've lost a friend."

"No. He's still here. I'm just waiting for him to remember it." James smiled gratefully. "Now, tell me everything you think you know about me."

"Well... Your name is Remus Lupin; you are the professor in a self-defense class at this...place; you are a werewolf; and...and you knew another James." He shook his head, unable to discern why this was meaningful. "Your favourite colour is b-burgundy; you were a prime flyer but never joined the Quidditch team; you were always running tests of some sort because ... there—was something wrong with me."

"Can you remember what that was?"

"It was... dangerous—and frightening. I had to hide myself—I was always in pain." He could say no more. He could not remember the cause itself, and now that he had connected the wrong memories together, he was confused. He looked to Lupin for support.

"It'll come to you, with time. You're doing better than I had expected— It has only been three days since you took that potion."

"It feels like a month," James wearily replied. "So much has happened—has already happened, but seems like it's all happening again for the first time."

Lupin chuckled and patted him on the shoulder. "It shouldn't be too long then, until you're ship-shape again."

Norrington lowered his head, ignorant of the deliberate sea-faring term. "I'm sure you'd much rather have the old me than the current one, hmm?"

To his surprise, Remus only laughed. "You're both the same person—you're the only one who doesn't know it. Now go get something to eat. I don't want you forgetting to take care of yourself when you're so busy remembering!"

* * *

**Originally, I typed beqildered instead of bewildered near the beginning of the chapter, and I almost left it that way simply because I thought it looked better. Does anyone else think some words look attractive by their letters and others don't, or am I just weird? I want to hear what you think!**

**I can't make any other promises about updating this story. I'd like to say I'll keep working on it, since I have the whole thing generally planned out, but I don't know how to write the next bit, and being back at college again probably won't help, so please try to be patient! In the meantime, I will most likely be posting the first part of the upgraded 'Scattered Pieces', if you want to check it out at all. It probably isn't very interesting, and I'm sure the people reading the original didn't have a problem with it, but it was really bothering me.**

**And if you have no interest in that story, then just leave a review for this one, haha. Happy holidays, and happy New Year!**

**-edit- Has anyone else been having trouble uploading documents? I had to send this chapter to another computer before I could get it up, and it was really frustrating. Anyone else having this problem lately, or is it just my computer?**


	24. Double Life

Ok, I know. I know. I said I'd have this up by yesterday at the latest. I didn't expect my holiday to be soooo busy. I was at the zoo for six hours, had to sew a dozen sashes for my mother for her musical at her church, and of course, I ate steak perhaps a weak before my jaws were ready for it. But hey! Better a day late than longer, right?

I took some creative liberties with the runespoor, I hope you all will forgive me.

Very subtle cameo of a familiar and well-loved character in here. See if you can spot it!

It was so refreshing to be writing again. I don't know if I'll be able to get my next chapter out within the moon, but it'll definitely be a shorter wait than it has been!

So enjoy!

-PLEASE don't sue me!-

**Of Fears Unknown**

**Chapter Twenty-Three: Two Pasts, Uncertain Future**

To James, everything may have seemed to pass with an infuriating slowness, bit it was within a fortnight of having taken the potion that he was able to remember. He remembered every person, his connexion with thim, what he thought of them personally, and how he treated them in person. He remembered all of his conditions and problems, and everything he had done or which had been done to him. The only thing he could not remember was what had happened after he entered the tunnel beneath the Willow.

It had been slow at first, where the gaps between memories had been large and noncondusive to connecting the dots, but as those holes were filled in, the picture became clearer, and only when everything began to make sense could he claim those memories as his own. He knew the significance of Lupin's having known another James; he knew the difference between the pains of transformation, enchantment, and colitis; and he remembered his bond with Chrystafi - a sentiment which, strangely, the unicorn did not seem to share. He still shied away from time to time as though he didn't recognize him, and when he was being more "tolerant", he never acted the same toward his surrogate. It was like they had never met. James knew he should feel distressed at this - even betrayed - but could summon neither emotion, and went cheerfully about his business without ever missing the company that had, until now, never deserted him since his arrival at Hogwarts.

"Well, James, yer comin' along right nice, you are," commended Hagrid as Norrington entered the hut, fresh from feeding the deadly runespoor and coated with a fine sheen of sweat. Patting Fang on the head and grinning, James pulled off his shirt in favour of a fresher one and a waistcoat to appear (and smell) presentable at lunch.

"Are you ready?" he asked his housemate, and they were soon out the door, striding through the green grass and warm April sunlight toward the magnificant castle on the hill.

Although the staff always joined the students for supper, and usually breakfast, lunch was a time when they became more similar to Muggle teaching staff than ever. If they wished to sup together, their location would rotate from one staff member to the next. Today, partially as a part of that rotation and partially in celebration of James' recovery, they congregated in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Lupin greeted them warmly and they took their seats among Professors Sprout, Flitwick, McGonnagal, Trelawney, and others. Even Dumbledore had graced them with his presence. Madam Pomfrey rang a small bell that somehow managed to echo softly but audibly down the hall. The house elves marched merrily in, carrying pitchers and platters, as they had done consistently - though infrequently - throughout the year.

With laughter and a casual familiarity - even Snape was managing not to be _too_ gloomy - they tucked gratefully into their meals. They could not have been more relaxed or generally carefree as they dined together, and it was remarkably refreshing.

"...And then two of the heads start bickering; jabbing and hissing at each other - all the while, the third head rears up into striking position," narrated James to four or five others at the desk they were seate around. "Myself being backed against an apple tree, there is little I can do to escape its reach. It fixes me with those golden eyes, spreads its hood with a vicious hiss, and lunges."

"How did you manage to escape that one?"

"Well, I couldn't let it bite me - the poison'd kill me in under a minute. So, I waited for it to get close enough, and," his audience leaned in with merry anticipation, "I shoved an apple in its mouth and told it to chew thoroughly." This merited grins and chortles, and congratulatory pats on the back.

"Sounds like work is coming more naturally to you," Hooch observed.

"Yes," agreed Snape with a half-hearted sneer. "One would almost think you were enjoying your work, heaven forbid." Norrington missed the hidden humour (which, it may be said, Snape had grown used to sharing with him), and frowned at the scathing tones.

"You've really settled in, haven't you?" quipped a cheerful Sprout.

"So much so," continued Lupin thoughtfully, "that it is easy to forget you come from another world."

Distracted by the mismatched elf taking away his empty dishes, James looked up sharply. "Another world?" he echoed with an incredulous confusion, brows knitting together. A moment later, he broke out laughing. "I know you think Muggles are strange, Remus, but we are just as human, I assure you."

"No," Lupin interrupted him, a little awkwardly. "I meant that you came from another world."

"Is there such a place?" James asked with an amused smirk.

"Yes of course, James," the werewolf replied with mounting vexation. "You came from there - you were hit by a falling star, don't you remember?"

"More the stuff of fairy tales than your usual timbre," snorted the man in question. His merriment was not shared.

"And what of everything you told us about that world? About the Caribbean and being Commodore, and fighting pirates?" James' brow creased in perplexity. "Sailing the _Dauntless_? And the hurricane - and your crew."

"I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about, Remus, are you feeling all right?" his friend asked with sincere concern.

"No, I am not," he muttered, his scarred face darkening. "And I won't until I can make you remember chasing Sparrow, or competing with Will, or loving Elizabeth Swann."

"Elizabeth - what a lovely name. I shall have to name one of the boats that," Norrington mused half to himself. "- But I do not know anyone by that name - nor any of the others, for that matter."

"Perhaps you might refresh our memories, and test your own," Dumbledore spoke up, "as to where you came from and how you came to be here at Hogwarts." He had been watching intently the entire exchange with a thoughtful frown and a gaze as clear and focused as might catch the sunlight and start a fire.

"Well, for most of my life I lived with my father, a shipwright, just outside the village of Silverdale in Lancashire, on the Morecombe Bay. The fishing was good there, and so there was a high demand for decent boats with which to catch them. We used to take sailing trips to Ireland and the Isle of Man every year." James' voice softened with fondness of the memories before continuing more briskly. "After he died, I moved up to the town of Blackness, not far from Edinburgh, where there is more tourism, and set up a small boatyard there. There were all manner of strange folk that I encountered there, and as it turns out, I had setted right on the edge of a magical community. I catered to both Muggle and magician alike, and when I grew weary of that, I packed up, sailed down the Firth of Forth, and made for the Shetland Isles, where I was born - although I must admit, my main reson for returning was a desire for adventure. Well, I certainly found one," he declared with a smirk as he looked around at all of them. "I sailed along the coast, stopping in at a town here and there, long enough to eat, rest, and chat with locals. As I was braving the North Sea, between Kinnaird Head and Noss, a sudden gale came upon me, and my boat, though sturdy - and, if I may say so, well-built - was no match for the wind and the waves." He broke off, eyes distant and searching.

"I am not sure what happened between her sinking and my arrival here, but I do not think I ever knew that, even before I was obliviated. When I awoke, I was in the Forbidden Forest with a hole in my arm and no clothing. I stumbled to the edge of the trees and spotted the castle. But my strength had deserted me. I collapsed, unaware of the danger, at the base of the Whomping Willow, which attempted to maul me, and would have succeeded if Hagrid had not come to my rescue." Here Hagrid's mouth fell open with dismay. "I presume you know the rest of that story - unless I am not the only one who's been obliviated."

Lupin exchenged a shocked expression with Dumbledore. It was clear in Norrington's face that he believed what he was telling them. The Headmaster, his face betraying nothing, only nodded to James. "It seems like you remember everything very clearly. If I may, I would like to test the level of detail that you have regained."

James nodded complaisantly, leaning back in his chair. "Ask away."

"What was your father's name?"

"Ezra," came the confident reply.

"And your mother's? You neglected to mention her."

"A-Abigail. She, uh... she died when I was young."

Dumbledore contemplated him over his half-moon glasses, long, slender fingers folded before him, for an uncomfortably long time after his less than certain answer. "And that of your boat?" he continued as though the lengthy pause had not happened.

"The_ Blackness_, sir, for the town I left behind."

"How was she rigged?"

"She was a square-topsail sloop, sir. Shall I describe her further?"

"Please do."

"She was one of my best works. Twenty-six feet on deck, thirty-two overall. Mast height was twenty-seven feet. She was shallow on the draft, and, with both jibs and the staysail unfurled, was capable of attaining speeds of up to seventeen knots." Something about the brisk, confident tone he spoke in was reassuring, but the feeling was abruptly lost when he smiled afterward, clearly proud of himself for having remembered.

"Your memories have come a long way from where they were," Dumbledore remarked. "And you are certain that nothing Remus mentioned rang familiar?"

"Of course not. Chasing pirates, fighting blacksmiths - adventures from centuries ago. You are all very strange today," he said in bewildered good humour. "Anyway, I must take my leave. The chipperphant egg is due to hatch any day now." He stood, bowed courteously, and left.

A shocked silence fell.

"Albus," murmured Lupin with a desperate look in his eyes. "Please, tell me that your memories of him were not the same as his."

"Of course not." The werewolf looked relieved. "My intention was to discern how thoroughly his memories have been altered."

"What's happened to him?"

"It must be the World Order," speculated McGonagall. "When he was obliviated, this world must have replaced all the memories of his own world with those from here."

"Precisely, Minerva. You see, this was always going to happen, no matter what - had already begun to happen before the collar and before the case against Malfoy. It was a process which, unaided, would have taken years to complete. But when James was obliviated - by whom and to what purpose we still do not know - this world took advantage, so to speak, of his complete lack of past, and let him remember a different life to precede the memories he already has from Hogwarts."

"And this happened to protect the order of the realms, did it?"

"The worlds must maintain a distance from one another, or risk collision. As long as Norrington has a connexion to his own world, it and ours are drawn closer together. Our realm seeks to sever that tie, and so make him one of its own, thus maintaining the world order."

"Even those memories _related_ to his past have been altered. He thought he had already told us that past before, in the place of his stories of the Commodore who fought cursed pirates."

"Not to mention that bit wi' the Whompin' Willow," Hagrid growled, reaching for his mug.

"I am not sure of the significance of that alteration. It was certainly the same process, but I do not see how that event specifically is related to his past. Perhaps there is more that has changed than just his memories."

"But he doesn't belong here," Lupin burst out. "He was always meant to go back, some day, and no matter how much we may enjoy having him here, we mustn't forget that."

"But how can he go back if his connexion with his world is broken?"

"It has not been completely severed, I think," replied Dumbledore.

"But if he can't remember any of it -."

"Ah, but he does, you see? The memories are buried very deep, and have been obscured by these newer ones, but they are not gone altogether. His connexion with the name Elizabeth is still strong, even if he does not know why. And of course, his memories of his mother are still original."

"How can you tell?"

"He never mentioned her once in his detailed, though brief, account of his life. This world gave him no memories of a mother, although he knew he had one - so he remembered Abigail, and her early death. That was the only moment he sounded unsure, and it is because two different pasts were coinciding, and he was confused."

"'E did mention once his mum died when 'e was four," Hagrid verified.

"But how do you know his father wasn't really a shipwright named Ezra?"

"Come now. Ezra Norrington? It is a terrible name. No man with James's constitution would wish to follow the legacy of a man named Ezra Norrington." This seemed to quell any doubts. "The third and perhaps most important clue to his remaining connexion is this: he referred to William Turner as a blacksmith, when no one else had specified him thus."

"That's true, he did. But won't he forget that too?"

Dumbledore nodded grimly. "With time; which leads me to the other reason his connexion remains, albeit weakly. It is because _we_ remember. We know his origins, and we know his past. Unless all of us are obliviated as well, we shall not be forgetting that for quite some time."

"Then is there a way to make him remember again? Without his past, he is a different person, shaped by different experiences, and I am uncertain of the effects that may have on his countermagic," admitted Lupin.

"Perhaps, and I suppose the only way to find out is to unearth other memories like that of his mother. How that may be done, I am not sure, but as long as the ties to his world remain, we must try."

* * *

By the third interrogation, James grew irritated with the senselessness of the arguments, and in the politest way possible, asked the person badgering him to kindly bugger off. Secretly, he was beginning to suspect that they had all been put under some sort of enchantment. He remembered well the stories he'd heard of the last dark lord, and he feared that similar forced may have been at work. After a week he took his fears to Dumbledore, the only one who to him seemed sane.

Dumbledore assured him that they were all merely having a joke that they mistakenly thought he was aware of. Calmed, James went on his way. Dumbledore, however, had to call his staff together to ask them to be discreet. Any blatant attack on what he thought to be true and James' mind would close to the possibility of an alternate truth, as would any person. Making him remember memories that "never existed" would call for a subtle manipulation of his thoughts until something fit into place, like a jigsaw puzzle that has like-shaped pieces from a completely different puzzle jammed into the available spaces; but because they are not a perfect set, the foreign pieces have been forced into place and are stuck and difficult to remove.

* * *

"Any moment, now," James murmured with anticipation as they leaned over the leaf-patterned egg. It had grown from the size of a rugby ball to an elongated Quaffle, and there was a soft scratching coming from inside.

A tiny chip fell away near its top, which slowly cracked and grew until a thin, jagged line encircled the crown. James and Hagrid shot exuberant expressions across the table at one another. By now, a pitiful but persistent sqeaking came from within, and with a great heave, the creature inside broke out of the shell that had been both its protection and its prison. With a shudder, the entire egg shattered, and the baby Chipperphant crouched in a damp puddle, exhausted from the exertion and panting for breath. It was dusty tan in colour, with a tawny underside and highlights. Like a faun, it had white spots along its back.

James turned to his quill and frantically began scratching down his observations. "I suppose it will trade its spots for stripes as it matures," he speculated.

Hagrid covered the infant, which was about the size of a small cat, in a towel and began to dry it off. It squealed in protest, but did not struggle. James went to the fire and took the pan of milk off the flame, sticking his finger in to test the temperature. Not too hot. He was about to pour it into a small bottle, but abruptly slammed both on the table and leaned heavily, startling Hagrid.

"It looks like this is as much help as you're getting tonight, I'm afraid," he said shakily with an apologetic smile, and he staggered into his room, the door closing behind him. There, he stripped what clothing he could before the change took hold of him.

Later that night, Hagrid opened the door. "Anything I can get yer, James?" He was met with a snarling, screeching set of teeth and claws. "Alrigh' there?" The ferret did not slow its approach. It launched itself at him with a vicious caterwaul and embedded its teeth in his leg. With a shocked and dismayed yell, Hagrid swung his leg, and his minute attacker was sent careening into the wall. He rushed toward his umbrella, and grasped it none too soon, for when he turned back, the ferret had emerged. "I'm warnin' yer, James," he shouted, pointing it at him. "Stop this funny business. I don't want ter do this - but I will if I 'ave to." The were-ferret gave no sign that it had heard him. Once again it lunged. Hagrid swung his umbrella with a roar, and a bright, explosive light illuminated the hut in the dark night.

* * *

"Where is he?" Hagrid, Dumbledore, Snape, and McGonagall looked up as Lupin entered the hut. They parted to reveal a small cage on the table. Inside was a roiling, agitated ferret that snarled and chomped at the bars containing it, froth and slobber dripping from its bared teeth. He leaned close to examine the beast, careful to keep a safe distance, as Hagrid explained what had happened.

"My goodness, you say he bit you?"

"Are you all right, Hagrid? I do not know the repercussions of a bite from a were-ferret."

Hagrid plunked down on a spindly-legged stool and pulled up his pantleg. His skin was untouched. "'E got a mouthful o' fabric. Besides, his mouth's a bit small fer someone like me."

Lupin, whose eyes had not left the raging weasel during this exchange, now addressed it. "James Norrington, can you hear me? Do you understand me? Do you recognise me?" There was no response. The beast only continued in its frenzy. "It is as I feared," he assessed grimly, straightening. "He has lost his countermagic."

Dumbledore was nodding sagely. "His countermagic was a form of protection from his own world. Without his memories, that world cannot identify him as its own. Without his memories, he is a different person entirely. Those memories, those battles, those experiences; they made him who he was."

"Then without them, he is an ordinary Muggle," growled Snape, "who has had the misfortune of being bitten by a magical being."

"He can no longer remain conscious of his humanity when he transforms." Lupin's shoulders sagged. "I had it all figured out, too - how to conceal him, without another collar. It would have relied on his ability to fight and halt his transformation - an ability that, without his countermagic, he does not have." He turned away from the one thing that had given him hope. "He's just like I am, now. ...And officially a danger to the students here."

* * *

Ohh, what happens now? Certainly nothing good. At least not yet. Don't worry, James's life isn't all bad.

Did you catch the cameo? If you did, tell me who it was in your review!

See you next chapter! Hopefully it'll be up in a reasonable amount of time.


	25. The Truth

Yaay! I know it's been a while, but the fact that you've gotten more than one update this summer means I've improved at least a little! I'm hoping to crank out one more before fall semester! Enjoy.

Disclaimer: For all that I've changed about both worlds, I obviously don't own them, or else they'd stay the same.

**Chapter Twenty-Four: The **_**Fallen Star**_

They were staring, those green eyes. Staring in shock and horror at a pair of hands that clenched and unclenched in anxious and dismayed confusion. They flickered up at the entrance of the Headmaster and company, and immediately dropped to the ground smouldering with shame and guilt. "Headmaster." The voice sounded foreign. "There are no words with which I can express my apologies to the level they need be done. I do not know what came over me."

Dumbledore sat at his desk, his deputy at his side, and silently contemplated him for a long time. It was the grimmest James had ever seen him, and he was deeply unsettled by the lack of that brightness normally characteristic of the wizard's gaze. In his own mind, James wasn't sure whether he was to blame for his actions. It had never happened before, to be sure, but at the same time, if it was something he could not control, _was _ it his fault?

Unable to take the silence any longer, he opened his mouth again. "How is Hagrid?"

"None the worse for wear," Lupin answered, also lacking his usual fervor and looking more haggard than ever.

"Is he - did I...?"

Lupin shook his head, and Norrington's tensed shoulders sagged with relief. The werewold turned away, unable to bear the sight of him any longer. The faint trembling of his friend made him grind his teeth: this was not the same man. No matter how much he looked and sounded the same, he was a completely different person, and Remus was fervently wishing for the return of the real, the _true_ James Norrington.

At last, Dumbledore spoke. "There is no blame in this room, Mr Norrington. What has happened is beyond any of our control, and it appears that it cannot be undone." His words fell like stones, and the more he heard, the more Lupin felt like he was becoming stone himself. "We shall just have to adjust and move on." James had never heard such weariness as he heard in the Headmaster's voice (at least not in the life he remembered), and in spite of the blameless words, he couldn't shake the feeling that, somehow, he had been a grave disappointment.

O0o0O

"You're going to need to drink this potion tonight, I'm afraid, though I don't think it'll hurt you to."

"And this will make me less dangerous?"

"It will allow you to keep your head when you transform - an ability which you seem to have lost."

Once again, James felt guilt without knowing why, and he downed the wolfsbane without another word. Tense moments passed, but the only pain James felt was in his gut, and hat had been there since morning, when he'd come to inside a cage and been told what he had done. "Is this not the same potion you gave me the first time?"

"It is. I had theorized that your countermagic would act as a catalyst and carry its effects further, and I was right."

"Countermagic." James' brows furrowed with concern. "I don't like the sound of that. Is it some sort of disease?"

"If it is, it is nothing to worry over. After all, you haven't got it anymore." He misinterpreted the bitterness in Lupin's voice as due in part to the loss of a 'magical catalyst' to study.

"And what now?"

"We sit and wait. Under cover of darkness we shall go to the Shrieking Shack, where we can effectively hide ourselves."

James perked up. "Good. I haven't been there since I was obliviated. I should very much like to investigate it. Perhaps we can discover what happened, and who it was."

"The same thought had entered my mind, although it was not my original reason for going." Lupin went on to explain the real purpose of the Shrieking Shack and the Whomping Willow: to act as a safe haven for a young werewolf student years ago, before the advent of the wolfsbane potion.

"No wolfsbane? How did you know you wouldn't hurt anyone?"

"I didn't. I was grateful for a secluded place, but I probably could have broken out and escaped. I was lucky to have the friends that I did. They stayed with me, and somehow kept me sane."

"How could they have? Wasn't it dangerous for them?"

"Of course it was. But they made it less so. A werewolf has an inborn hatred and hunger for humans. It is in our nature. So they made themselves inhuman. They became animegi; those who can willingly transform into animals. It is like a subdivision of Transfiguration, except that with normal transfiguring, someone who is turned into an animal must be turned back by another person."

"I see. Like a shape shifter. Potter called me one on the night he discovered me. I did not know what that was, and so ended up revealing myself. Even if I had known, I don't think I would have used it as an excuse. Potter probably wouldn't have felt obliged to keep it a secret, and word would have gotten out that I am a dirty old man."

There was a beat of silence before both roared with laughter. When they had calmed, Lupin straightened, looking much less grey and more lively. "I nearly forgot that the moon effects you during the day as well as night. If we don't want you getting caught out in the open, we had better be on our way."

Norrington followed him out, and could not keep the claws of dread from tugging at his spine. They strode out into the air and made for the Whomping Willow. Lupin cast furtive glances as they went, to make sure that they were not seen. "Why do you look about as though you must hide yourself? Did not you tell me that the students knew about you?"

"They do, but I do not want to tempt any into following me by revealing the entrance to my hide-out. Besides, they do not know about you. If someone were to see you in my company, suspicions would likely be raised - and we have had more than enough of the consequences that follow." Thinking back to the pain of Draco Malfoy's discovery and the panic of Harry Potter's, James had to agree. The fewer people who knew, the better.

Upon reaching the Willow, Remus sprinted toward the trunk before it could whip its branches around and pressed a knot-shaped button in the bark. Instantly, the writhing tree calmed and James was able to cross safely to meet him at the entrance to the tunnel. With last surveyances to confirm no detection, they climbed down and began the back-breaking walk to the Shrieking Shack.

"How did they find out, the students?" the Muggle ventured after several minutes of silence.

Lupin, already beginning to gleam with sweat in the wand light, glanced back at him. "It happened last year," he began after a moment's hesitation. "A man named Sirius Black - Harry Potter's god-father, you remember - had escaped from Azkeban. They arrested him for the murder of more than a dozen Muggles, not to mention a mutual friend of ours, Peter Pettigrew. He was presumed to be the man who had betrayed the Potters to the Dark Lord. But Peter was alive, James. He was an animegus, a rat. And do you know what Fate did?" he paused with a wry smile. "He was the pet of Ronald Weasely, and had been so close the entire time. It was he who had committed the murders, and he that betrayed Harry's parents. The three of them - Harry and his friends - came to confront Sirius, and in the end helped to capture Peter and clear Sirius's name. Unfortunately, in all the excitement, I had forgotten both the date and my potion. I transformed, and put everyone in grave danger. Severus, who had pursued the children and had been hoping to apprehend Sirius himself, was later rather loose with his tongue within earshot of a student, and word spread."

"Severus did?"

"Sirius, Peter, James Potter and I were a tight bunch when we were students here, much like Harry, Ron, and Hermione are today. With the exception of Peter, I am afraid that we rather bullied students like Snape. He has hated us ever since, and so, denied his apprehension of Sirius, who had always treated him worst, pursued my humiliation instead." James could not believe his ears. Surely the man he had so identified himself with had not crouched so low. "His revenge was just, I think," Remus continued. "At first, letters arrived from parents who worried that I might be a danger to their children, and I considered resigning my position here. But the news painted me a hero, and Dumbledore encouraged me to remain. Hermione Granger even put together a petition to have me stay, which was signed by the majority of the student body, and the staff. Her reasoning was that, of all her Defense Against the Dark Arts professors thusfar, I was the only one she felt she had learnt anything useful from." They both paused in their hike to chuckle at this.

"I am glad it turned out all right."

"So am I. I didn't exactly have anywhere else to go. Not many places would hire a known werewolf."

"Which leads me to wonder about the one that bit me. Perhaps it is not aware of its condition?"

"It's a definite possibility. Even so, someone would have discovered such a person by now, and we would have gotten wind of it."

James acknowledged this with a grunt. "What happened to Black and Pettigrew?"

"Peter was sent to Azkeban, and will probably remain there for the rest of his life. Sirius's story is much brighter. He became Harry's guardian, and they are living happily together in the countryside."

"I am heartily glad to hear of it, and sincerely hope that dark times such as those can be left behind, and the influences of the Dark Lord fade until the are naught but memories."

Lupin continued on without reply. Dark times pertaining to his friends of old and the Dark Lord had indeed passed. But it felt like life was just as dark now as his friend wandered farther and farther away from his true self, unaware that he might well be lost forever. The werewolf smiled bitterly. It seemed lycanthropy was not the only thing he was cursed with, and he berated Fate for matching him with such troublesome friends.

It was not long before they reached the Shack. Night had begun to fall. With a nod to one another, they retreated to separate rooms where they stripped their clothing and placed it where it might stay safe and clean, and waited for the moonlight to shine through the slatted windows. A short time later, they reunited as beasts, and traversed up to the bedroom to commence their investigation, noses to the ground and senses alert. Unfortunately, the scents had faded by now, and what smells they found they could not identify. The scars of the fight remained: gashes and scorch marks on the floor and walls; deep gouges that on a man might have been fatal; a wardrobe which first had been turned to stone and then been cracked and pocked with small craters; and of course, the rotting corpses of half a dozen carrion birds. The carnivores were immediately drawn to the carcasses, and both were suddenly consumed with the impulse to roll in the remains and cover themselves in the stench. Laughing, almost hysterically, in the way that animals do, they resisted, and instead dragged the carrion into a heap in the corner, to be disposed of later.

If the scents had been fresher, Lupin might have been able to follow the battle from start to finish, but at this time, all he knew was that they had circled here, blood had been shed there, and nearly all the spells seemed to have missed their mark. He made an appreciative noise that might have been interpreted as "Impressive!" or "Well done!" James could only look at the damage in bewilderment, unable to recall any of it - that is, of course, until he came to the collapsed bed. This was where he had been found immediately after he had been obliviated. He bared his teeth in frustration. Why could he remember everything else but this? A thought hit him. Had he discovered his infector? Had he found out something he shouldn't have? He shook his head. He had been told that the attacker had targeted him specifically. Had lured him there.

Once they were thoroughly bored, they left the Shack behind and wandered the Forbidden Forest for the remainder of the night. When they sensed dawn's approach, they scurried back to the decrepit house for their clothes, and emerged human from beneath the Willow in to the golden twilight that preceded the day. James sighed thoughfully, buttoning his shirt, as they stood safely out of the Willow's reach and watched as morning stretched its emerald fingers over the hills to grasp first the towers, then the walls of the magnificent stone caste, and realized that, somehow, he had enjoyed himself.

"It's odd, isn't it, that the old thing used to like you, and suddenly does not," mused Lupin with a glance at the Whomping Willow. "You used to sit under it, reading, and it wouldn't twitch a leaf."

"I wouldn't say it ever liked me. I liked the privacy it gave me, though - no one else would come near."

"How were you able to recline on its roots unscathed?"

James jutted a thumb over his shoulder. "I pressed the knot, same as you." The easy confidence was disheartening, and Lupin gave it up for another time. For Norrington, however, the answer came as a shock. It made enough sense, and he remembered it clearly enough, but he had the strangest feeling that, despite his memories, he hadn't known about the knot until Remus had used it the previous night. He had had the same feeling when Dumbledore had enquired after his mother. Everything about the question had just felt _wrong_ - or, perhaps, not the questions, but his own answers. His brow furrowed as he gazed out over the misty fields. _Had_ his memories come back correctly after all?

He shook away the thoughts. It was time to work, not daydream - and, work aside, he was hosting the staff lunch the next day, having finally been added to the rotation, and still needed to have a word with the kitchen staff.

With a nod to one another, he and Lupin parted ways. "There y'ar, James!" cried a jolly Hagrid as he entered the hut.

James could only stand and stare somberly. Breakfast was on the fire. The baby chipperphant was asleep in a basket by the table. Chrystafi and Marlie were looking in through the window and nickered greetings at him. How could everything move on so normally? "Rubeus." The gamekeeper started at the tone and abandoned the bacon to face his friend. "...I..."

Hagrid rested a heavy hand on his shoulder. "I forgive yer."

"You do?"

"Sure! No harm done, and t'weren't yer fault ter begin with."

James' relief was dizzying, and he had to grab the table for support. He counted himself incredibly lucky to have such friends.

O0o0O

He scrutinized the painting for a long while, trying to understand how a swipe yellow paint would be able to feel and react to human touch. He knew it was easily explained with "Magic," but still, in his mind, it did not make even the nonsensical sort of sense that other magic made. He berated himself for neglecting to learn to not ask questions, and steeled himself to do what he had come to accomplish. He reached out and tickled the yellow pear, and gained entry to the kitchens. There me met with the batty house elves to inform them that the staff lunch would be served on the deck of the _Fallen Star_.

The creatures looked at one another, their huge eyes swelling to the popping point. None had ever been on a boat before, and although only a handful would be needed to bring the meal, all were apprehensive. James began to feel uncertain about what had seemed like a wonderful idea. Was he asking too much of them? Then a particularly mismatched elf marched forward. "Dobby will do it, sir!" he squeaked. "Dobby has always wanted to go on a boat." Follwing his example, others also volunteered themselves, and James was able to leave satisfied. Now that they knew where his lunches were to be held, they needed only be told it was him next in the rotation and they would deliver the food to the _Fallen Star _every time.

The small group on the deck of the _Star_ was made up of the usuals, who attempted to make it to every staff lunch they could, plus half a dozen that had come simply for the novelty of it. Lupin, McGonagall, Sprout, Flitwick, and, among others, even Trelawney and Vector. And Snape, who usually perfered to eat in his office, or else in the Great Hall.

James had set up a wooden table and benches what could seat about a dozen. Everyone chattered in cheerful idleness, looking around with interest and appreciation at the boat that had been crafted by hand - Muggles could achieve such things without magic! - as it was many of their first time aboard. When the elves came, their host stood at the rail with a steadying hand as they climbed with the food into the boat. They set the platters on the table, then stood in a small huddle as they stared in awe at the boat, with its coils of rope and its towering mast. "Would you like to join us?" he invited them. "We'll be setting sail soon."

"To have set foot on Mr Norrington's boat is adventure enough for me," one refused, and the others agreed, shaking their heads so that their ears flapped.

"Dobby wll stay, sir." The elf's large eyes were lit with excitement.

And so the _Fallen Star_'s sails were unfurled and she sailed merrily out onto the smooth, glassy lake. James navigated her for a few minutes before pulling in the sail and tying the tiller, and so the meal began. He found himself seated beside Snape, which neither of them would have minded if they both had not kept trying to talk to one another. The more they attempted to converse, the more disagreeable James found him, and he wondered how he could possibly have considered the man a kindred spirit.

Perhaps sensing that loss of camaraderie, Severus quit trying to be social and glowered at his food with glittering eyes. He had lost the only person who had seemed to understand him, and it filled him with a bitter resentment that sharpened his tongue so that it whipped and snapped at anyone who addressed him. James was glad to be ignored, and turned his attention more fully to Minerva's anecdote on his other side, about how a student had turned a classmate into a surprisingly colourful chihuahua instead of a quill into a rose.

The meal was enjoyed and finished, and they sailed back to the dock to debark and continue with their days. Snape lingered to catch the captain alone. At last he turned away from a rather animated conversation with the house elf, who tottered away, precariously balancing all the empty dishes. He looked back to see the Potions Master still there, and though bewildered by his presence, was far too merry to wonder at it. "Do you know what he's just done?" he cried gaily with a gesture at the retreating elf. "He has commissioned me to make him a boat, and offered to pay my in full! Oh what a life! Crafting a boat for an elf!"

"Oh stop your meaningless blather!" snarled the wizard.

James sobered immediately and looked at him quizzically. "Have I done something?"

"Yes you have. You've become just like every other idiot in his wretched world." None of them had ever understood him in the way James had, not in a long while.

"I beg your pardon? What have I - ?" the affronted rebuke was interrupted.

"Why did you build the _Fallen Star_?"

"I hardle see how that is related - ."

"_Why did you build it?_" The intensity that shook Snape's voice distracted James from his indignation.

"So I could never forget the feel of the waves beneath my feet."

"And why would you ever want to remember something as trivial as that?" Severus sneered. "Or, for that matter, why would you forget it?"

"When it became apparent that I would be staying here, I thought I might never get to sail again. The seas I always knew are so far away."

"Silverdale and Blackness are comparatively near. Board any train and you could be there in a matter of hours."

"So they are," James conceded distantly, recalling them. But if that were so, why was it bright turquoise water that glittered in his mind's eye? And, like with the knot on the Whomping Willow, he felt as though this were the first time he had ever heard of a train, despite knowing what one was and recalling half a dozen rides. Now that was odd. Surely his memories had come back correctly? Had they been jumbled? Or, were they wrong altogether?

"Why did you name it the _Fallen Star_?" Snape broke into his thoughts.

James blinked, struggling to remember. "To - to prevent the loss of my memories - to remember where I came from," he answered with a relief that was doused almost immediately as he realised what little sense that made.

"And what does a falling star have to do with where you came from?" Snape asked aloud the question that burned in James' own mind, and in that moment, in his mind's eye, he saw carnage; the bodies, broken wood, an endless expanse of black, violent sea, and a peculiar white light that grew brighter and brighter until it seemed that was all there were in the world.

"Oh my God," he gasped, gripping the rail behind him as memories flooded into his mind, dizzying, overwhelming, and he gritted his teeth against the nausea. "My crew," he recalled with anguish. "Groves. Sparrow. Elizabeth." He squeezed his eyes shut with a growl as he struggled to regain control of himself. His brow creased. He knew who he was. When he next looked at Snape's emotionless face, he saw not a disagreeable man, but a loyal one, who had cared enough and been hurt enough to bring him back from the brink of oblivion. He smiled ruefully, trembling against the bulwark. "The false past was a much happier one." He cleared his throat to quell the shake in his voice and squared his shoulders. "But a real past is so much more fulfilling. Severus - thank you." He extended his hand, and the wizard accepted it. In that moment, that handshake might have been the equivalent of an animated man-hug from the normally detatched man, and James was grateful for a friend as loyal as him. He let out a gusty sigh. "I shall have to go and apologise to everyone now. Hand me that rope, will you? I should like to moore properly, first."

O0o0O

Lupin and Dumbledore considered one another across the desk of the Headmaster's office. "Give you joy of the return of your friend, Remus." The werewolf could not keep himself from grinning. "What do you make of it?"

"I think his countermagic has returned with his memories."

"And if it has?"

"As soon as we can be certain, we shall go through with the plan - though we shall require a room in which to do so."

"I think we may stumble upon one quite by accident that will be perfectly suited to the occasion," Dumbledore replied with a knowing twinkle in his periwinkle eyes.

"And what about sending him back?" Lupin continued. "Have you found anything?"

"Nothing of use. There is only one account in our history of a man like Mr Norrington. He died before he could return to his own world."

* * *

There! I'm rather happy with this chapter, but unless you review, I won't know if anyone shares the sentiment! Hoping to update again before summer is over!

Also, in the handshake = man hug scene, I want you all to imagine if it had really been a man hug, and be incredibly amused.


	26. Of Purposes Unknown

Once again, I apologize for the wait! I had hoped to have this finished before fall semester, but there was so much to be done in so little time that I've been on campus for almost two weeks without getting the chance to write. Don't think I'll be as much of a stranger as last year, though! I intend to update at least as often as I have over the summer (knock on wood). I know that's not much, but it's better than it was.

Looking at the number of this chapter - 25 - I am amazed at what a simple experiment has turned into. I originally planned on ten to fourteen chapters, but it somehow took on a life of its own, and I'm glad of it.

Enjoy the stuff that's not mine!

**Of Fears Unknown**

**Chapter Twenty-Five: Of Purposes Unknown**

James had to stand back from the door as Lupin stumbled in, staggering under the weight of several thick volumes. The stack wobbled dangerously, and he caught half of them as they began to fall. "Thank you," panted Remus.

"What are all of these for?" James enquired with raised bows.

"You," came the reply as the rest of the tomes were hefted into his arms, and he buckled momentarily under the sudden weight. "Read all of them by your next moon cycle. Read and _understand_ them."

"But these must be a thousand pages apiece!" he cried in protest.

"Well," Lupin waved it away cheerfully. "I guess you should get started, then." And he left before James could protest further.

He gaped at the closed door for a few moments before his arms began to shake with the effort, and he all but dropped them onto the table with a dusty thud, a small cloud pluming into the ray of morning sunlight filtering through the window. He opened the cover of the topmost volume and his eyes widened in shock. "This is - !" Hagrid came over to see and James swung round to face him. "It's advanced transfiguration! I haven't got any magic - how can I be expected to be able to perform it?"

"Hold on, now, calm down. He said ye had ter understand it. 'E never said anything about doing it."

James' dismay disappeared in an instant. "Hmm. That is true. But I wonder what for. What can he possibly expect me to do with this knowledge?" Neither of them knew the answer.

And so he studied for the next month. He returned to the old Willow, and it seemed to welcome him back, for it did not lash its branches at him when he sat at its roots. As he turned a page a few chapters in, he was suddenly thrown into the disorienting effects of déjà vu. He had been here before, reading spellbooks under the Whomping Willow. The last time he had done so, he had woken up hours later in the Shrieking Shack. What had happened between? The memories still would not come, and with a sigh he went back to his studies.

The Whomping Willow was not the only one who welcomed him back. Chrystafi, who had grown too big to be called little by anyone but Hagrid, had returned to following his surrogate through his day. He must have sorely missed James, for he seemed to cling closer than the man's shadow.

As the reader can imagine, life wasn't all studying spellbooks. James had work to attend to, or he would not get paid. The runespoor required diligent care, the baby chipperphant needed nurturing at the oddest hours, and of course, there was Dobby's boat to craft.

The baby chipperphant, though female, had gained the name Jack and seemed to be coming along rather well. It did not get along with the unicorns at all, and seemed to like using its caretakers as teething rings, but was otherwise very healthy. In just two weeks she had tripled in size. Having grown too large to stay in the hut - she could intimidate Fang into submission, though that was no great feat - and James was tasked with building her an outdoor enclosure that she could not escape from. It was difficult. Being that she was both a climber and a burrower - not to mention her wood-chewing abilities - a simple wooden fence like the ones containing the hippogriffs and unicorn foals would not suffice.

James was glad for the challenge. It kept him busy and thus away from everyone else. He still felt immensely guilty about the way he had acted, and was not entirely sure how to make it up to anyone. This was not his only reason for evading human contact. Upon his most recent flare, James had discovered that his false self had resorted to the tincture the doctor had left instead of taking painkillers, and that his body was rather strangely addicted to it. His subsequent abstinance left him irritable and snappish, and the one thing he didn't need to do after regaining himself was act like a petulant, pathetic brute.

And so he kept busy, hid himself in his work and his studies, and was not seen but every once in a great while.

The moon waxed and was soon full. "All right, James, fight! Fight it!" cried Remus, and to be sure the former-commodore complied. In the burning grip of his transformation, James Norrington fought with every fiber of his being. When at last it came to an end, it was a half-beast that crouched in Lupin's office. "Well done, oh well done! Your countermagic has returned for sure, stong as ever, as far as I can ascertain."

The abomination tipped its head to one side inquisitively. He understood that the countermagic allowed him to be less dangerous, but his colleague seemed to imply that it was significant in more ways than one.

Hearing the unasked question, Lupin explained. "I trust that you have been studying those books I gave you?" The James-creature nodded. "We are going to merge those concepts with your countermagic. We are going to take your ability to fight the change and take it to a whole new level. You will be sent for in two evenings' time. Make sure to stay out of the moonlight."

James nodded his comprehension and took his leave.

(X)

Instead of returning to Hagrid's hut or the Forbidden Forest to wait out the night, Norrington decided he would patrol the corridors. Should danger come, he could fight it off. And should and naughty children be wandering the halls, one look at his nightmarish visage would send them scurrying back to their rightful places. Whatever they saw, or thought they saw, could later be explained as an illusion and blamed on the resident poltergeist. Of course, the one person he met that night was the single exception to all of this.

He heard their footsteps. Smelt their flesh and clean linen. Saw the glow of their wand-light. He stalked closer, hoping to pounce and then flee. Hopefully the child would do the same. But the student turned suddenly, and once more he found himself face to face with Harry Potter. "Mr Norrington?" The boy hadn't looked up yet. He had been staring at an old piece of parchment in his hands. James instantly scooted back into the shadows and fled, unable to fully avoid being seen, berating himself for trying to vary his schedule, and leaving the student gaping after him and looking back at the parchment.

(X)

The next night was not much better, for although he was no longer a half-beast and thus less conspicuous, he was also less unappetizing to the eye. It was for this reason that, taking refuge in Lupin's classroom for the evening, a small pair of hands still managed to close around him and lift him into the air to meet the inquisitive face of a speckled and bespectacled first year who had left his notes. He found himself once again at a dinner table in the Great Hall, though this time among young Ravenclaws. He shrugged to himself, enjoying the food, and made his escape while the magicians argued over the pudding.

Having reached the relative safety of the entrance hall, he sheltered behind a statue and paused to catch his breath. It was getting to be - had long been - a hassle to always have to evade capture. He wasn't sure how trouble was finding him so easily; he suspected his countermagic worked like a magnet and just drew them to him. One thing was certain. It would not be long before he ended up in another child's dormitory - and after the first experience, he wasn't too keen on a repeat. The collar had served its purpose and without it, he was just an enticing, adorably cute pet in apparent desperate need of a home.

He sighed and hoped that whatever Lupin was planning could solve the problem. Why couldn't they have done it tonight, he found himself wondering before he recalled that it was the true full moon and that Lupin had probably transformed. He would have to survive another night.

(X)

It was evening when they came to get him. He had been told to evade the moonlight as much as possible, or else suffer to wait another month. Not wanting to risk more experiences like the night previous - and desperate to please in the hopes that it might make up for his false behaviour - he paid due attention to both sunlight and moonlight, avoiding the well-lit windows of the castle, traversing by its western side early in the day and by the eastern as it grew later.

He skirted the shafts of light shining through the windows as he clipped along to keep pace with Dumbledore's brisk stride. Their conversation was idle. The weather; the state of the creatures; how little Jack was coming along and what she had gnawed to bits this time; neither of importance nor relevance.

He was led to a corridor on the seventh floor and was beginning to wonder if indeed they were going anywhere at all. "A memory is like a raspberry, is it not, Mr Norrington?" James could not conjure an answer. "A body that is an aggregate of smaller bodies, each of which are themselves aggregates of smaller details and elements - the skin, the seed, the flesh, the juice, the flavour. A moment in your mind's eye often contains so much more than a shallow glance back in time will reveal. Let an ill-conceived jibe suffice as an example. The fact that the joke was not well-received is the body of the memory - but what that joke was, who it was aimed at, the progression of its conception, presentation, the silence, and the embarrassment are the smaller bodies aggregate. What conjured the wit, the setting, the audience and their manner of acquaintance, their facial expressions, the length of the silence and its awkwardness, and what thoughts ran through the mind of the rememberer, the realisation of failure, and the paranoia that accompanies embarrassment are the elements comprising those smaller bodies. Even then, they can be dissected into greater detail - colour, texture, position, action - what was who drinking or eating or doing simultaneous to the rememberer's actions?"

The Headmaster unexpectedly changed direction, retracing their steps, and James continued on for a few moments before he realised Dumbledore was no longer with him. As he regained the lost ground, the musings had continued. "They are also alike in that they may be sour or sweet. A raspberry, if picked too early, is most displeasing in taste; but when it has been given time to ripen, its sweetness is most pleasant. Likewise, the memory of that joke is more sour while it is still fresh and green. But as the rememberer ages, the blow lessens, becomes miniscule, occasionally even cherished with fondness."

Again the Headmaster changed direction and they began the length of the hall a third time. "And like a raspberry which grows moldy and with time degenerates until it is no longer a raspberry, so too do our memories degenerate. Whether it is time or our own doing which causes the distortion, a memory is often different when looked back upon than when it was made. Ah, just in time. I was beginning to make myself hungry."

James, who had been studying an enormous tapestry, trying to figure out why a medieval wizard might have been training trolls for the ballet and therefore listening with only half an ear, suddenly realised that the soft brushing of Dumbledore's footsteps and the glide of this robes had ceased. He turned and found the old wizard had quite vanished. His searching eyes came to a door that had most certainly not been there before and, with a sigh of resignation, he opened it.

The room he entered was large and dim, lit almost solely by wandlight. There were half-visible and indescribable symbols decorating the walls, but what drew his gaze and stole his breath was the great circle of mirrors in the middle: a Stonehenge of reflections, gleaming in the faint light.

He was motioned to stand at its centre, and once there he was faced with an army of himself at least two dozen strong. What made it more than a mere circle of reflection was that each visage was a different James. He was surrounded by himself from all walks of life: the Commodore, calm and confident, with a hint of humour and cynicism that had been gained after his encounter with Sparrow, proud but devoted to protecting the innocent; a teenaged midshipman, just promoted to acting-lieutenant by the look of it, nervous but eager to prove himself; as a young boy growing up in Scotland, so innocent and full of life;. He saw himself as a ferret and as a half-beast. He saw himself sodden and resigned, and knew he was seeing himself preparing to let go of the floating plank in the hurricane and join his crewmates in death.

Directly behind him was a man who looked and dressed like him, but who was not him. The open expression, the lack of depth to the eyes - or, perhaps, a different sort of depth - and the general posture made it evident that this was him after he had remembered a false past. They turned their backs on one another as he faced forward once more. Only the reflection in front of him seemed to be a normal mirror, showing him as he was now.

They all moved with him. If he were to turn to a cabin boy and raise one hand, so too would the boy. Out of the corner of his eye, he would see that the other reflections had also raised their hands, and he would see them looking out the corners of their eyes.

"James," the sound of Lupin's voice snatched him away from his observations, "Do you understand the procedure detailed in the fourth volume of Stabe?" Norrington nodded, eyes widening with apprehension. "That is what we are going to be attempting tonight. We think it may solve your problem. Are you willing to give it a try?" It was more out of facination than anything that James agreed, and the plans were explained to him. "Are you ready?"

Swallowing, he replied, "As I'll ever be."

"Then let us begin." Dumbledore moved to where he could see James through the gap between two mirrors. Snape and Lupin did the same, and in this way they formed an equilateral triangle around the circle of mirrors, with their victim at the very centre. All at once they began to recite incantations, their voices boucing off the walls of the room and merging to form an eerie chant. Without a break in pace, the three raised their wands and pointed them skyward. Lupin gave a wave of his, and the unseen shade of an unseen window rolled up to let in the moonlight, strong and bright. It bathed James in light and reflected off the mirrors so brightly that it might have been day.

The transformation began almost instantly. "Fight it, James!" Lupin urged him, while the other two continued to recite. "Give it everything you've got!" And he did. He put every ounce of his strength into it. He thought about everything that made him him, and fought not to lost his grip on himself. Even so, he felt his body changing shape, and although he continued to fight the moon's power, it seemed that he could not halt it. So hard was he concentrating that he didn't realise that he was in no pain.

At last the chanting ceased and the transformation stopped. As the echoes faded, James could feel that he once more had four legs, a tail, and moveable ears, and he knew that he was a ferret again. Had he been so unable to fight as he had done? Or was this the result of the procedure which, as he had read, was a reflection of his own personality? He placed his head on his paws in shame. He really was a ferret at heart.

That was when he saw his reflection. The creature staring back at him was not a tiny, faint-hearted, conniving ferret, but a great, golden lion.

"Congratulations, James," said Dumbledore. "You are now an animegus."

* * *

Well, I hope you enjoyed that! Ideas for the next chapter are already under way, and an ending appears to be in sight.

I giggle to myself because I was listening to Chain of Memories music as I wrote the memory similie.

Please leave a review! Thanks!


	27. Of Fears Abolished

Once again, I apologize for the long wait - that seems to be how I start off every chapter. Even so, I have been writing much more during this semester than in the past, and I hope that the waits have been getting at least a little shorter. I understand that it may be frustrating for those of you reading this to always have to wait and wait for more, and I thank you for your patience, but, unfortunately, writing stories is not at the top of my list of priorities. That isn't to say that I don't care about writing - I'm always thinking of new stories and plot bunnies - but with everything else happening as my life begins to begin, a wiser method of time management is to think first about my schoolwork before any of my personal goals unrelated to the future. I apologize for the wait, and I promise there will be more waiting, but this story will continue to completion. I will not abandon it.

All of that being said, enjoy this chapter! It was one of the most difficult to write, which is also part of the reason for the wait, so now that it's done, I hope that other chapters will come to me more easily.

**Chapter Twenty-Six: Of Fears Abolished**

James gaped at the reflection staring back at him. A lion? Why a lion? Was it his predatory gaze when a potential prize came into sight? The savagery of the battle and the numbness to the bloodshed? Was it for his leadership and sense of territoriality - no - protectiveness, like the lion that leads his pride? His aggression? Had he spared a mouse's life? Lain down with the lamb? Was it because he was a Leo? Perhaps it was all of these. Everything about him, every aspect of his personality, had merged to form the shape he was in now. A symbol of power and nobility. He knew he did not deserve it - but there it was, staring back with emerald eyes.

"Well! All of this had made me quite hungry," Dumbledore's voice cut through the mesmerized thoughts. "Let us hope there are raspberry tarts at Honeyduke's today." With that, he opened a trapdoor that most certainly had not been there before, and disappeared into an equally spontaneous tunnel beyond. The door reminded the lion of the secret entrance beneath the Whomping Willow. He had fallen through it. But he could not remember what had subsequently transpired.

James looked back at Snape and Lupin, the latter of which beckoned to him. He looked uncertainly back at the mirrors. All of his former selves continued to watch him. "It's all right, you can come out of there. It won't break the spell." The great lion rose to its paws and padded over to them. "Let's have a seat." The two wizards sat in a pair of chairs that seemed to have just popped up out of the floor. James was eye to eye with them when they sat. "You must be wondering why we've done all of this." The lion nodded its golden head. "It was a bit of luck, really. We were betting on your becoming something big. You see, your countermagic allows you to effect magic inversely as it effects you. In this case, it allows you to alter your transformation. If you were an ordinary Muggle, this wouldn't work, but because you are also a were-creature, you can use the same transformation to become something else. Now, whenever you begin to change at the full moon, you can channel the transformation to become a lion instead. This way, because of your size and predatory appearance, no one will be able to take you anywhere you don't want to go, without the use of magic. No more having to escape from dormitories in the night."

The lion let out a sudden purr, by which it was startled, and the wizard laughed. Even Snape had to turn away to hide his amusement. "It also removes the toxicity of your disease-ridden mouth," he added to help hide the fact. "If you were to bite me as you are now, all I might catch from you is rabies."

A tiger-like chuff of amusement.

"Now," Lupin continued, "move over here by me so that you are out of the moonlight. I want you to think about all those reflections of yourself, and how they are a part of the you you are now. Focus on everything it means to be James Norrington, and know with certainty that you are you. With all of this, will yourself to change shape."

James closed his eyes. All of his past selves flashed through his mind, each integral to the person he was and who he would become. He was him, and could be no one else. He felt the ground shift beneath his paws - or rather, his paws shift on the ground - and he knew he was once again changing shape. But this was different. It didn't hurt. He hadn't noticed it the first time, but the sensation was entirely different to whenever he had become a ferret. Aside from the fact that he was transitioning from a shape he was not accustomed to, it felt like he was the one making the change happen. It was entirely of his own will. That was the difference. As a were-ferret, the transformation was against his will and therefore painful; but as an animegus, he was entirely in control of the shape his body took.

Before he knew it - the change was almost instantaneous - he was a man again, sitting on the wood-and-stone floor of that uncanny room. "I still have clothes!" he exclaimed, not without relief.

Lupin laughed. "Yes, your clothes changed with you. Whenever you become human, you'll still have them."

"Well thank goodness for that," grumbled Snape. "We've had far too much nakedness as it is." James heartily agreed.

"Look, James." Lupin pointed to the moonlight on the floor not five feet away. "And you are still human."

"So if I get caught in the moonlight and begin to change, all I need is to become a lion instead, and I may return to my business once free of the moonlight?"

"As long as your reflexes are fast enough," Snape replied. "Whenever you get caught off guard, which has been happening rather a lot for a seasoned man of war, all of your problems will be solved if you become a lion, then hide in the shadows like a man."

"You can change at other times, too. Because you don't have magic, you needed to divert your other transformation to gain the ability in the first place; but now that you have it, you can use it as you please."

"But - if it works, why had it not been used in other cases?"

Lupin shook his head with regret. "The rest of us don't have countermagic, James. We can't fight the change like you can. We cannot divert it. Oh a werewolf can become an animegus, there's no doubt about that, but only while he's a man. When the full moon comes, he cannot become anything but a wolf. The question isn't so much possibility as it is legality. A werewolf could in theory become an animegus, but none have done because it is illegal. It it like your existence. You are not supposed to be here, and yet you are."

James blinked. "So if I can change whenever I may fancy, how do I do so without another transformation to divert?" he returned to the previous discussion. "I mean, at a time outside my moon cycle."

"The same way you became human again," Remus explained simply. "You and that lion are synonymous. If you will yourself to become yourself while in one form, you will transfigure into the other. That lion is as much 'you' as the you sitting there now. Here, why not give it a try, right here without the moonlight?"

Once again James focused on everything that made him himself, and willed the creature to come into being. There was no wand-waving. There was no incantation. There was only him, and he was a lion. Could it reall be so simple?

"'Oh, it's so easy,'" mocked Snape who, once again, seemed possessed of the ability to read thoughts. "'It is so easy, even a Muggle can do it.' Do not make a show of it, will you? It would be more acceptible if you were discovered to be an animegus than a were-creature, but don't go flouting it about. This is all illegal, after all. The last thing this miserable, louse-ridden heap of rubble needs is to be charged with unlawful use of federal procedures for a person who shouldn't exist." The golden cat nodded its understanding.

"All right," said Lupin, "you know what to do now. Why don't you go and get used to being a lion?" James' ears came up. How would he get out of the castle unnoticed? Almost as soon as he wondered this he noticed another trapdoor. Lupin hefted it open, and a breeze blew out from the pitch black tunnel. The lion scented the air. This led to the Forbidden Forest! Without another thought, he ascended the dilapidated wooden steps into the void. The door closed above him, and he found himself running, flying through the shadows as he chased the tiny speck of light that was the end of the tunnel.

He was suddenly drawn into reverie: He had done this all before. He had been in a dark tunnel - where was it? Had it been under the castle? No, it had gone from beneath the Whomping Willow toward Hogsmeade. He had been following a tiny light - had it been a fairy? Wait. A wand. His attacker. He had followed the light and the tunnel to a bright clearing lit by flames - now, hold on! That was the end of this tunnel, not the one he was remembering. He heaved himself out into the open, and found himself in the midst of the thestral herd. He looked back: the tunnel was that in which he had hidden himself when he had first encountered them.

The smell of a fire found him and, alarmed, he whirled round to find its source. Were the woods ablaze? Did he never get a break?

But there was no danger. The flickering, dancing flames came from torches carried by creatures the likes of which James had only beheld in fairy tales. They gazed at him with gleaming eyes, snorting in surprise and stamping in discomfort. Having been born and spent their whole lives in the Forbidden Forest, none of them had ever seen or heard of a lion before. They stared at one another in bewilderment. All of Hagrid's warnings echoed in his mind - they were extremely territorial; they didn't take too kindly to humans - and he got the feeling that they knew he wasn't really a lion - yet he did not feel threatened. As suddenly as he had come upon them, they disappeared into the trees, the orange glow of their torches fading into the shadows, leaving him alone with the thestrals.

James blew out through his lips. _Centaurs_. He couldn't believe it. This was as monumental as his first meeting with the unicorns. All else dimmed in comparison to the awe that had stolen his breath.

At length he perceived another distant flame, bright, illuminating the forest and casting deep shadows. Wait, not a flame - the sun. Dawn was spreading its scarlet fingers through the clouded heavens. It would rain today. He looked forward to it. The land needed a cleansing. He set off into the trees to see the world through a different set of eyes and tread familiar paths on unfamiliar feet. As the forest came to life around him, he was buffeted by sounds, smells, and awarenesses that he had never before experienced. It was like sensory intoxication, and he began to feel overwhelmed. He broke into a run - whether to escape the experience or to meet as much of it at once as possible, we cannot know - and quite suddenly found himself at the edge of the wood, peering out at a gradually waking Hogsmeade. He stalked along the treeline, breathing in the scents of the cozy village. His village. He had been here so many times, whether for business or as a hostage with the students, that the little town was as much his territory as the school and its grounds were.

He gazed thoughtfully, perhaps ruefully, on those ill-fated adventures and had to admit that they'd been his first exposure to Hogsmeade. His belly still churned at the memory of the wild broom race that had nearly cost him his - he came to a clearing with a stump-table and stump chairs, and recognized it from that crazed flight. He looked skyward, trying to imagine what it would bee like to see flying humans jetting across the sky. Instead he beheld songbirds flitting after one another in the crystalline patch of morning sky. The muscles in his tegs tensed as though he were about to pounce and pluck them out of the air, but he knew he could not reach and so refrained. He was, however, famished, what with all of the excitement and exertion from the previous night, and set himself on the task of finding food. He stalked back into the shadows.

The threatening grey sky at last opened up, and the sounds of life became muted. All the better for hunting. He was still clumsy with his new shape, so his pawsteps were, shall we say, less than silent. The sound of the rain would help him to sneak up on his prey. As it was still early in the morning, deer were in plenty. He came upon a solitary young buck quite by accident, and although the scent made his mouth water, he was quite at a loss as to how he should catch it. He nad never been hunting without a rifle or a snare - something to do the killing for him - and therefore was clueless as to how he might get close enough to pounce, or, for that matter, what he should do once he had leapt upon it. He had seen ships' cats go after rats before - but there were many hiding places. He was large, and his prey was out in the open. He thought back to Crookshanks' mousing techniques, and Mrs. Norris's stalking skills. The former made it look easy, even with his twisted legs, and the latter had a way of appearing suddenly at the heels of her prey - usually students - without eliciting attention.

Keeping these in mind, he crept along the clearing until he was downwind of his target. The rain had soaked through his thick mane and was beginning to trickle between his shoulder blades, but he dared not flick it off for fear of startling the deer. It meandered toward him in its grazing. He tensed, but hesitated. Should he pounce while it faced toward him, so that it could not run in the opposite direction as easily? But it would see him sooner. And facing away, it would be able to take off more quickly. He knew he would gain knowledge with experience, but he was wet and hungry, and did not want to waste his energy. He'd already gone the night without sleep. He settled on the middle road and waited until it was broadside to him, presenting the biggest target, gathered himself, and leapt. Sailing through the air, he went much farther than he had anticipated, and in one bound had his claws in the buck's haunches and his teeth in its throat before it had fled even a full pace.

Intoxicated by his triumph and the bloodlust, he felt something bubbling up inside of him, and could do little but give it voice. The roar that echoed off the trees and distant hillsides quite startled him, especially clear in the muted silence of the rain. He shook his mane, scattering silver droplets, and tucked in to his meal.

Some time later, he was again prowling the woods surrounding Hogsmeade, when all of a sudden he came upon a pair of footprints in the mud. Normally he would have dismissed them as a villager's having taken a walk in the rain, were it not for that scent. It was strangely familiar, but he did not know how he knew it. He had certainly never gone around smelling people before. He parted his jaws to bring in more of the smell. _Why _did he know it? Compelled by curiosity, his hunger satiated, he began to follow the trail. It led him through the trees, back toward Hogwarts, looping around the strawberry patch and back into the woods, in the direction of the village.

He was on the border of the desolate heaths surrounding the Shrieking Shack when he suddenly had cause to hide himself. Why? He had caught up to the source of that uncanny smell. He shook his mane in confusion. Did his eyes decieve him? Did his nose? He had to get closer. He had to be sure. He stalked along the treeline as the figure a cable away tottered toward the town.

Once the buildings began, James hurried past them, pausing at the gaps in between to mark the progress and direction of his target through the town. The quiet town. Why was it so still? Why was the market not bustling? Why were so few out and about? Was there something else happening here? Was something wrong? Senses alert, he continued after the staggering figure in the hopes of finding an answer. At last he could see the person clearly. It was as he had thought: the shopkeep with the changing store. This cas confirmed as the man stumbled into said shop, looking furtively around before disappearing through the door. Most suspicious. Now what had _he_ been up to that had left him so battered and secretive? The lion lay in wait, as though stalking prey once more, but the shopkeep did not come out again. He would not have been surprised if the shop turned into an ordinary house after it closed. He turned back and padded pensively through the trees, bright green with new growth. The rain had long since let up, and rays of sunshine lit up the town.

It was not long before he found himself back in the clearing with the old stump furniture. His thoughts were roiling. Why was that shopkeep's scent so familiar? More importantly, what had he been up to that had warranted his trespassing on Hogwarts' grounds in the night? He had been acting very suspiciously. James looked to the sky, as though it might yield the answers, but all he saw was a hawk circling in the crystal blue, its underside alternating between bright orange and black as it faced toward or away from the setting sun. Wait - the sun was setting already? The lion stared at the vermillion and pink horizon in disbelief. It seemed as though it had only just risen. How could a man of the Navy, accustomed to the rigid schedule dictated by the bells, possibly have lost so badly his track of time? It was no wonder Hogsmeade had been so quiet: the day was over. A jolt of guilt went through him when he realized he had been gone the entire day - and with all the work he was meant to have done! Jack would outgrow her new home before she could be moved into it, at this rate!

Without another thought about centaurs or shopkeeps, he whisked away toward his home, to return to his duties, his dinner, and his human shape - although not without nuzzling a very surprised Chrystafi first.


	28. Of Families Broken

Hey, everyone! an update within a month! What a shocker! Hopefully an enjoyable surprise. Happy Thanksgiving, and happy miscellaneous winter holidays!

Go forth, read, review!

**Chapter Twenty-Seven: Of Families Broken**

"Go ahead, Jack." The adolescent chipperphant stepped curiously, apprehensively through the gap in the stone wall, sniffing loudly. She was by now the size of a sheep, and far too large to continue living in and chewing up Hagrid's hut. James closed the gate after her. She snuffled through the grass and up the remains of a lightning-struck tree to the little house in the crook of its boughs. There in the shade, with a nice view of the lake and the island whence she came, she yawned and promptly curled up for a midmorning nap. James breathed a sigh of relief. She seemed content in her new home, which made the pains he'd gone through to construct it worth while. The physical aspect he had build himself. However, with limited knowledge of modern technologies and materials used to enclose an animal - he certainly wasn't going to keep her behind bars - he had had to resort to asking Hagrid to cast a few magical barriers to work as an invisible fence and keep her within. Which charms to use had been his suggestion too, using what he had learned from the spellbooks. Even if he couldn't cast them himself, James had proven that he knew as much as anyone else - at least the students - and was no longer ignorant. This, parhaps the last remaining barrier between him and the rest of the staff (with the exception of his Realm), had been overcome.

Even amid the cheers and congratulations of Hagrid, the trio, and a rather odd Ravenclaw by the name of Luna Lovegood, who was very interested in magical creatures, his mind and eyes were already straying from this complete project to another one floating at the dock. Dobby's boat had also been finished. It had proven quite a challenging task. Not only did everything need to be proportionately smaller, but he could not find any wood that was sturdy enough in thinner layers. He had had to buy magically shrunken lumber and rope, which became denser and retained its strength no matter how thin or small it was cut. This was all very well, except that the enchantment burned his hands due to his countermagic. Most of the construction had been done wearing gloves. However, in spite of all of this - he loved a challenge, after all - he was quite satisfied with the result. The mismatched elf had been, as well, squeaking happily and clapping his long-fingered hands. He had been an eager student while learning to sail it - perhaps overzealous might be more accurate - and now he could sail her with confidence. He had not capsized her thusfar.

To celebrate the completion of the fleet, some of the staff had suggested that the whole of it be taken out on the lake. James had heartily agreed, and the date settled upon would be the next day. Remembering this, he locked the gate to Jack's paddock and went to check that all the boats were sound before sharing a celebratory butterbeer with Hagrid and their company. "No, Miss Lovegood, I assure you that my fleet is entirely free of narguls. With good weather, that lake will be white with sails."

The weather was good, all right. It was beyond good. It was glorious. The sun was shining, the air was warm, the sky was a brilliant shade of blue, in sharp contrast with the very white, very puffy clouds scudding toward the horizon, and the breeze was more than fair. "What a day for a sail," Norrington cried with appreciation as he and Hagrid headed for the dock.

Everyone had gathered and was content to chat cheerfully with one another while they waited to embark. Almost everyone invited had already arrived. They needed only wait for one more person. Upon that person's arrival, the group fell into shocked silence. There, dressed more like a sailor than a wizard, was Severus Snape. Even James could not keep his mouth from forming a surprised 'O'. It was the first time he had ever seen the man in anything but black. The frock and waistcoat had a most shocking effect on his countenance, and indeed made him seem so much less severe. James was smart enough, however, not to make comment. After all, the strange outfit had probably been brought on by his own implications that sailing might be made easier if one were to wear something other than robes. Instead, he welcomed the prickly wizard aboard and everyone prepared to make way.

And so, the fleet of seven spread its sails and cut out into the brilliantly sparkling water of the lake. James could not contain his joy. To be surrounded by sails, on such a beautiful scene, on such a beautiful day, with two of his dearest friends in this world - he was a commodore again. There was an almost permanent smile stretching his face, whether he was giving orders to his crew of two - Lupin and Snape, of course, who despite their dislike of one another, made a very good team - or sending signals to the other boats. He had made a signal book for each boat just for the occasion.

Potter, Granger, four Weaselys, Longbottom, and young Miss Lovegood sped past in the _Elizabeth_, whooping and cheering. Dobby went speeding ahead in his little boat, accompanied by a very frightened Winky who covered her eyes every time the _Tickly Pear_ tacked. Other staff along included Sprout, Flitwick, Hooch, Burbage, and McGonagall, in the _Sparrow_. Even Dumbledore was aboard, although he was doing less sailing and more enjoying the scenery. James supposed age might have been a factor there. Indeterminable and seemingly interminal age.

Any other students along - mostly James's prized pupils, or else their friends - sailed in the _Groves_ and the _Blacknesse,_ and seemed to be having nearly as jubilant a time as himself. Although they were a mix from different Houses, they appeared to get along swimmingly. There was even talk amongst them of becoming the school's first sailing team.

A jolly Hagrid, along with Fang, brought up the rear in his _Fantastic Beast_.

The show of sail was impressive and drew small crowds at windows and along the shore. The seven boats spanned over several cables, and once they were sufficiently spread, James reeled them back in, sending up the signal to get into formation. The _Fallen Star_ surged forward, the grandest, the flagship, to lead the little fleet, as they fell in beside and behind him, across the lake.

"How are you faring, Captain Granger?" he called across open water to the _Elizabeth_ as he passed.

"All is well, Commodore Norrington!"

A tingling went through him at the use of his former and most prized title. At this moment, he might have been back in his own world again. Although he was aware that some of his memories had faded already since regaining them - he could not remember the name of his hometown, nor that of the other lieutenant who had worked alongside Groves - he was utterly and completely happy; not a worry or care in the world.

There was only one thing to dampen his ecstacy.

It jolted him upright late that night, interrupting his half-conscious musings. A hand clutched at his chest, as though to quell the rapid beating of the startled heart beneath, and he stared with disbelief into the memory which had thusfar been denied him. It had been Lucius Malfoy! He remembered! Their exchange, their fight, all of the wizard's taunts and the satisfaction at his surprise when his spells were blocked - the torture. Once again, he had been subject to the Cruciatus Curse, and once again he had narrowly escaped the Death Curse. What he had not escaped was the Memory Charm - although that didn't seem so important now.

Rage exploded with a fiery intensity within him, burning, boiling, spilling over. Barely able to comprehend the jumbled mass of thoughts flickering through his mind, he was soon consumed by the emotion. He would kill the wretched bastard who had nearly cost him his entire world - _both_ worlds! Wring his sorry neck. Justice! Justice would prevail, and that wicked wizard would pay for everything he had done. Every wrong. Life imprisonment! Death! _I'll do it myself if need be!_ Few times before had he ever been so hungry for blood. He jumped to his feet and snatched his sword, swiping, frenzied, at an imaginary Malfoy, imagining with a terrible glee that his blade was piercing and killing the other man, over and over again. Vengeance would be his!

A sharp pain in his abdomen put a quick end to that. He stood, panting and shaking as he tried to get a hold of himself. _Think, you miserable idiot!_ he ordered himself. It was no good. He was in fight mode; he was too worked up. _Damn._ There was only one solution. He kicked the nightstand. Head sufficiently cleared - and toes sufficiently bruised - he sat back on his bed and took a deep calming breath. It hurt to do so. Another flare-up? He sat, dumbfounded. It seemed like ages since the last time his colitis had acted up. He had to root through his drawers to find the old bottle of pain killers.

He lay back, the mattress creaking in the silence of the night, and stared at the ceiling. He had been far too rash in his decisions. Was vengeance what he really wanted? How could he best use his newly refound knowledge?

This question dominated his thoughts over the next several days, and he became very distant and thoughtful as he struggled and debated with himself. On more than one occasion he was asked whether he were all right, or what he was pondering so deeply. He had no answers for them. He did not know if he should tell anyone what he knew, and it robbed him of much sleep.

About a week later, a particularly vivid nightmare about what had transpired all that time ago in the Shrieking Shack startled him into wakefulness. He was greatly disturbed as he calmed himself, wondering for a moment if he had been enchanted again. He shook his shaggy head to clear the lingering wisps of dream out of it. _Jumping at every bad dream. You really are pathetic,_ he admonished himself. _You have got better things to worry about today._ And he did. Today was Howgarts' annual Family Day, where parents and relatives of the students attending could come and visit.

Because his permanence was as of yet unpredictable, he had not been invited to attend - or rather, he had been invited to not attend. The less people to miss him should he unexpectedly disappear, the better. But, if he was still around when the next one came, he was by all means entreated to join in. It was all the same to him. He was almost glad not to be a part of it. It meant less work for him now that he didn't have to plan events or lectures for the parents. Besides, he didn't exactly feel like explaining his position or worth to skeptical magicians. As much as he was a part of Hogwarts, he was not a part of the community it was immersed in, nor the Realm to which it belonged.

He felt a sudden pang for his old Realm for the first time in a long while - some days it was easy to forget he had come from a place so vastly different from this - and began to very sorely miss the open ocean, with the fickle breezes and salty spray, and the sky stretching away in all directions into infinity, not a tree, mountain, or castle; not a single blemish to obscure the unending blue. His feet missed the pitch and roll of a spirited frigate under topsails, sending up as pretty a bow wave as he could like. The _Fallen Star_, bless her, simply could not compare. All this fresh water, all this dry land: to the sailor slowly being repressed within him, it just felt so unnatural. His sword arm missed its battles. Barring his tussles with the carrion birds, which he did not count because they had simply been hacking with the sword and required no strategy or finesse, he had only once engaged anyone in battle, and that had been Malfoy. Even that hadn't been a real swashbuckling affair. There had been no clang of blade on blade, no thrust and parry, no rules of engagement.

It seemed odd that only now, when he was so comfortable with his new life, did he so strongly feel the absence of everything that had once been familiar. From the start, he had dived right in without any regard for what he was getting into, or what he was leaving behind. He had done that rather often, he realized. From investigating and confronting Malfoy alone to giving in to Elizabeth's pleas and pursuing cursed pirates to rescue his rival in romance, to attempting to sail through a hurricane to catch Sparrow, all the way back to his spontaneous and ill-conceived decision to join the Navy in the first place - For a man who so warned against rash actions, he certainly had a penchant for them! The patience and reliability so valued in him seemed to count for little.

He rose and drew the curtains. Another brilliant day! How could he possibly sit and be melancholy? Families were beginning to arrive. He wanted to see some of the goings on. Being human meant he would have to interact and participate. Being a lion would be easier. Lupin had agreed: as long as no one witnessed his change in shape, there wouldn't be a problem. He would just be a lion prowling the grounds, eliciting little more than awed stares and startled gasps.

This was exactly what he received. As he roamed the fields and shadows, watching the activity, he got much attention, but no interaction.

Many of the presentations were out of doors. Hagrid's presentation was uncharacteristically tame, and had been limited to the harmless Diricawl. The lion, listening from a distance with half an ear as it basked in the brilliant sunlight, was surprised to learn that it was the same dodo that Muggles presumed to have hunted to extinction - the very same as in his own world. They were apparently possessed of the ability to vanish, which explained their "absence." Sprout lectured on the importance of Herbology in the cirriculum and its applications in life, showcasing the work of her most prized student who, it warmed the lion to know, was Longbottom. McGonagall was wowing parents with a colourful transfiguration of stained-glass windows into peacocks. James watched the birds with mouth salivating - but the professor caught his eye and with a knowing smile and shook her head at him. With these and other presentations going on, and more inside the castle, it seemed like Hogwarts had never been busier.

The highlight of the day seemed to be the Quidditch game between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. Everyone filed into the stands, and even from the lakeside, where he contemplated a liesurely swim, he could hear their cheers.

At last a great bell rang, and everyone filed into the castle for a meal. James wondered how they would all fit. Then he remembered not to ask questions. As everyone disappeared, so did the incessant babble that had filled the air since morning, leaving a peace and quiet that was disturbed only by breeze and birdsong. He settled himself down on an emerald knoll beside the castle, and looked out over his dominion. Everything seemed to be bathed in a golden glow: the verdant hills and fields, the distant shadow of the Forbidden Forest, Hagrid's hut, the strawberry patches, the Whomping Willow, and the lake, surrounded by distant mountains dotted with the shadows of clouds floating in the sapphire sky. The massive lion, just as radient and golden as the sunlight, lay on that small hill, strong and confident as the ancient stone castle, guarding its kingdom.

Now that it was so peaceful, there was little James could do to keep himself from thinking. The only thing his mind seemed to want to focus on - he had no other concerns in life - was his dilemma with Malfoy. After some time struggling with himself, he became aware of a quiet sniffling, and looked around for its source. At the base of the hill, a young girl was crying, her back to him. Had he been thinking so deeply that he had not noticed her appear? He immediately rose to his paws. _Time for a hasty retreat,_ he announced to no one. He did not need any more attention than was due, and she hadn't noticed him yet. Perfect. But something kept him from disappearing. _Where are her parents?_ He could see no one. _No. Don't you dare. She'll find them on her own, eventually._ His paws carried him toward her, regardless. He sighed inwardly. _Curse my sense of responsibility._

Silently, calmly, he lay himself down beside her. She jerked her head up, startled, but he only continued to look out over the grounds. He was very big, even for a lion, and he knew this made him intimidating. That was the point of his being an animegus in the first place. _Don't stare. Staring is predatory. Just be an enormous, fuzzy housecat._

It was not long before he felt little hands grasping tufts of his thick, shaggy mane, and the girl leaned against him, beginning to sob. "I want to go home. I dunno where Mum and Dad went. Everyone disappeared. They've left me behind!" she wailed in a thick brogue.

_There there, they've just gone inside. _He berated himself for not having hidden and become a man again. Then he could communicate with her. He pondered doing it now. _No. She trusts this lion. She may not trust this man._

"I'm supposed to come here year after next," the girl sniffled.

_Ah. That makes you nine._

"But I don't want to. I dunno anyone here. I ha'nt learnt any spells yet. All the others prob'ly know loadsa magic by now."

_Now now, you're all in the same boat._ He turned his head toward her slightly to show he was aware of her. _No one should be doing magic before coming here, anyway. They are all under-age._

"The professors are scary and old. The Potions master looks like he'd curse any studenta messed up."

The lion could not suppress an amused purr. He would have liked to assure her that Snape wasn't so bad, but really, he was one of the only people who thought that. He also couldn't deny his friend's severity on his students. _Severus would smile if he knew he was scaring students who do not even come here. Your reputation precedes you, my friend._

"Tha Magical Cre'tures class looks borin."

The lion purred louder. _If only you knew!_

"Mum an' Dad say I'll be all right. They say I'll make lots of friends here, and I'll learn a whole lot. And they'll always be there for me; they're only an owl away."

_You have parents who love and support you. That's more than some._ James wondered if the Malfoys would have reassured their son if he had been frightened. Not likely. He could almost hear Lucius's caustic tones as he derided his son for being weak. What a disgraceful son! He would sully the prestigious reputation of the esteemed Malfoy family! The lion flicked his ears in place of a growl. That was probably how the boy had turned out the way he had. There had been no father he could go to for advice or reassurance. Only a cold, vain wizard who probably should not have had children in the first place.

Suddenly he knew the answer. He knew exactly what to do about those troublesome Malfoys. Nothing. He would do nothing. His own presence was what had sparked the problem in the first place. If he had stayed in his own Realm, none of this would have happened. Draco would still be a carefree student, a troublemaker but not an unstable maniac. Now he was in the nut-house. He needed his father now more than ever, whether he was a good father or no, and Lucius couldn't be there for him if he was rotting in Azkeban. _I've done enough to their family_, he resolved. _I'll leave them alone. I am happy now. I have no need for revenge._ He let out a deep breath. His mind was made up.

The girl had calmed by now, running her fingers through his golden mane. Her tears had stopped. It was time to take her back. Seeming to understand this, she climbed onto his back, trusting the gigantic lion completely. He rose to his paws and ran, following her scent. While he could simply have taken her into the Great Hall, he wanted to find the place where she had become separated from her parents, in case they had remained to search for her. Her trail led straight into the Forbidden Forest. "I t'ought I might get to see a unicorn. There was a big bell rang, and when I came out everyone was gone. I hope they ha'nt gone home and forgotten me." The trail led in toward the shadows. A hint of Chrystafi was on the air, and soon they came upon the young stallion grazing in a patch of sunlight. _It looks like you received your wish,_ James thought as the girl stirred with wonder on his back.

But this was no time to gawk. He continued on her trail, back out of the woods and toward Jack's enclosure. She was still in there; the enchantments were working superbly. She eyed them suspiciously as they passed, yellow teeth bared, bristly tail twitching. "Why couldn't that big man'a talked about that thing? It looks so much cooler than that dumb bird."

_Oh, Hagrid, you are going to enjoy this one!_

They continued at a trot toward the lakeside. Filch was busy folding chairs, and was attempting to use one to shoo away some of McGonagall's peacocks. "That one was cool. The Transfiggeration, I mean. It looks like fun."

_There, you see? Something to look forward to after all._ They did not stop to chase the birds, however. James paused only to touch noses with Mrs Norris - who seemed to like him much more as a lion than as a man - before continuing. At last he found where she had left her parents behind: a small whisp of her smell went off in a different direction. He suspected they had been carrying something of hers; a jacket, perhaps. He pricked his ears for sounds of them calling, but heard nothing outside the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. The scents led off toward the castle. He sighed inwardly. He would have to take her to the Great Hall. Where all the people were.

He nosed through the great oak doors into the castle. Even in the foyer he could smell the food and hear the crowds. The girl on his back seemed to take no notice. He could not turn back now. Most likely, if he were to leave now, she would become more lost inside than she had out. He padded to the next set of doors, braced himself for chaos, and nudged them open. As he strode in, head high, hundreds of heads turned toward him with a collective breath, and several rose from their seats, either for a better view or a quicker escape. Distracted by all the new faces, he looked around. A plump ginger woman and skinny ginger man could only be parents to the Weaselys - yes, all four of them were sitting nearby. Who were the other faintly familiar faces around them? Siblings? Just how many Weaselys _were_ there? Hermione sat with two timid-looking Muggles, set apart by their lack of robes. Potter was sitting nearby. Who was that with him? His god-father? Black? They seemed happy together. With a twinge of satisfaction, James knew the boy didn't recognise him.

He brought his attention back to his mission. Blocking the aisle was McGonagall, who was trying to calm a frantic witch and wizard, and accompanying student. The scent led straight toward them. The witch was clutching a small powderpuff blue jacket that matched the girl's boots. This was them. At the room's gasps and murmurs, they turned and saw him; and on his back, their missing daughter. "Betty!" The girl leapt to the ground and rushed to meet her family. "Bertha Baggins, where _have _you been?" her mother scolded. She was eyeing the ferocious predator with suspicion.

"I got lost, Mum, but the lion came and brought me back," Betty Baggins explained exhuberantly. The unease of the crowd instantly vanished, and after a moment or two, applause broke out and spread from table to table until the Great Hall echoed with it.

"That lion is a hero," someone cheered.

"As you can see," Dumbledore began, and the applause died, "your sons and daughters, nieces and nephews, cousins, brothers, and sisters are all in good hands - or, should I say, paws. I encourage you all to take your seats and dine in cheer and safety on this beautiful evening." In the ceiling of the Great Hall, the sun was beginning to set in brilliant shades of orange, red, pink and purple. Everyone began to sit down.

The Headmaster lingered long enough to catch the lion's eye. He beckoned for it to follow, and gestured toward the end of the staff table, where Lupin was sitting, before taking his own seat. The golden panther obeyed and sat at the foot of the table, looking out over the happy families, the tufted tip of his tail flicking. The babble of all their conversations was calming, but with a prickle of unease, he knew many of them were about him. ("An' I got to see a unicorn, Mum!") Rather too many. He was supposed to be laying low!

As though reading his mind, Remus leaned toward him and said, not without humour, "Can't resist attracting attention for one day, can you?" James looked up at him sheepishly. Lupin looked thoughtfully out at the Bagginses, twidling his fork. "You did the right thing." His unease somewhat abated. He wanted to tell this wizard most of all about his decision regarding the Malfoys; to know if he had chosen the best course; to know if he had earned his friend's pride - he was so eager to please, it was a wonder he hadn't become a dog instead. But telling him about that decision meant telling him the basis for making it. If he gave that knowledge to anyone, he would not be able to control what they did with it. So he could not tell him. _You did the right thing._ It felt like he had meant more than retrieving Betty Baggins, and that was all James needed. He smiled the way lions do and breathed a contented sigh. Today had been a good day.

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And there you have it! Less than a month! What a wonder! Hopefully I'll get another chapter up over winter break. Hopefully. Knock on wood and leave a review.


	29. Of Purposes Found

Rawr. So I was very excited about posting this chapter, because it would _finally_ have been on a full moon. What happens? A bunch of unnecessary bull, and now it is well past midnight, and I've missed my moon. Even so, I hope you all enjoy this chapter!

**Chapter Twenty-Eight: A Future**

The sun shone brilliantly on the land. The day was bright and warm. It could not be called spring for much longer. In less than a month, term would end and summer vacation would begin. In less than a month, James would not know what to do with himself. He had no permanent home, and most of the creatures would be shipped away until the next term, so his helping hand was no longer needed either. In the Navy, he would have been turned ashore on half-pay. That wouldn't happen here, he had been assured, but then, if he was not working to make up a loss in wages, what would he do to stave off the insanity of boredom? He stared out on the lake, stretching away into the distance as he contemplated this. An idea came to him. He would take the _Star_ and take a long trip around the lake to explore its distant shores. He had never seen the far end, which was hidden by mountains a dozen miles away. From what he gathered, neither had anyone else. Much like the island of the Chipperphants, it had been at least a century since anyone had been there. Excited by the prosepect of adventure and new discoveries - every sailor is an explorer at heart - he furiously began planning, procuring supplies and studying what maps he could find of the area.

"Rubeus," he asked as they shared lunch, some days after coming to this decision, "what is there beyond the far shore of the lake?"

"Well, I dunno too much about up there, but in the nearer mountains there's giants. Wanna meet 'em?"

"I should like it above all things!"

"I'd take yeh, but I think they might eat you."

James grinned, eyes gleaming greedily. "Sounds like an adventure."

Hagrid chortled. "Well, I go out an' visit family round Christmastime. Food's shortest then, an' they'd be most likely to eat yer then, but if yer brave enough, ye could come with me."

"I would be honoured, Hagrid. It will be good to get out and see the world. To think that my entire existence has been limited to Hogwarts and its grounds - me, who has circumnavigated the globe at least twice, and visited every major port city in the maritime world. What is different between your world and mine? What is the same? What has been conquered? What remains to be discovered?"

"I can't show yeh th' whole world, James," Hagrid replied with a chuckle. James ducked his head with a sheepish grin. "But I can show you Britain. C'mon, I got somethin' ter show ye." Interest piqued, the sailing master followed him outside to one of the corrals near the chipperphant enclosure. The gargantuan man raised his gargantuan fingers to his mouth and gave a gargantuan whistle. Trotting over from the far end of the field came a gargantuan golden horse with equally gargantuan wings.

"Pegasus," James murmured reverently. "I thought I'd seen it all." It was strange: when he had dealt with horklumps and kneazles and runespoors, he took them each in stride, no more wondrous than the last. But when it was a creature from his own world - from legends and fairytales of his childhood - he was filled with a sense of wonder so deep that he began to think he might be dreaming. The magnificent palomino came right up to the fence, and he had to crane his neck to look into the inquisitive face towering above him - twenty-five hands, at least. "What have we here?" he asked when he had regained control over speech.

"This here's Xerxes. Fifth years're covering winged horses next week; 'e's as fine an Abraxon as I could hope, an' 'e's on loan from the Beauxbaton school. Fine creature though spoiled - only drinks single-malt whiskey. I want ter let some o' the students ride 'im, but I need a test rider first."

"And you've selected me from your multitude of options."

Hagrid shrugged. "Ye could have an aerial tour of the area at th' same time."

_Ah, so that's how this is relevant._ James grinned with pleasure. "I should be delighted and honoured to serve as your guinea pig." He scaled the fence, balancing precariously, and climbed onto the back of the gigantic equine. They spent the next hour or so discussing leg position with relation to the wings, and how to control the beast in three dimensions using legs and seat (as opposed to the abraxon's gilded bridle, which was only to be used to enter and exit the Beauxbaton grounds.) James had had much experience with equitation as far as the hunt was concerned, and had ridden a winning race in Arabia as a midshipman; not to mention his experience with Strawberry the hippocampus - except this time, he would be able to breathe.

At last, he urged his mount into motion and they were off, galloping toward the far end of the corral, past the surprised young unicorns, with great ground-eating strides. The huge, golden, all-encompassing wings unfurled like feathered sails and, with a single great heave, they were in the air. They rose and rose, above the treetops of the Forbidden Forest; winding upward toward the castle, encircling its towers - many excited faces were pressed against the windows as they passed - and continued to rise, leaving Hogwarts behind. They rose and rose, and James, who had almost no notion of what the land looked like from above - his highest vantage point had been skimming over the treetops, clinging for life to the smouldering end of a broomstick; but he had been slightly distracted at the time and hadn't been inclined to look down - almost did not recognize Hogsmeade as they glided over it, far above. Was the village really that tiny? It seemed to much busier when walking through it. Now it was just a small smattering of buildings. Was that really the main street? It looked more like a long, cobbled clearing. He made these observations in passing, as they flew over the town without a pause; it was already shrinking into the distance behind them.

They looped back around the grounds, winding higher still, to make a second pass over the castle. James eagerly looked down again, wondering if Hogwarts looked as different from above as the town had. What he saw pulled his heart into his throat, beating painfully and erratically in shock and alarm - for what he saw was no castle, but a pile of rubble; ruins that looked centuries old; great uninviting stacks of grey stone. It took him a few moments to calm himself. He'd heard about - or read about, he couldn't recall which - the enchantment placed over Hogwarts that made it so Muggles couldn't see the school, but he had never expected it to apply to himself. It was easy to forget that he was a Muggle, too.

By the time he had recovered, they had left Hogwarts far in their wake and soared on, rising - always rising! What were those white wisps? James quit looking at the moorland far beneath them to look ahead instead. _Cotton?_ he thought confusedly as they flew toward an enormous white, fluffly shape. _Wait - no - could that possibly be a cloud?_ They were flying right toward it, and Xerxes showed no signs of wanting to alter course; they would be flying into it. What would it feel like? Would it be as soft and fluffy as it looked? Could they land on it? Could he take a piece of it with him? The great white folds of the cloud closed around them. It wasn't soft at all - _It's wet!_ James realized. Moreover, it was cold. It was like moving through a mist, or - like a fog - as though fog were just a cloud on the ground. Still clinging to an irrational hope, he reached out a hand to grasp at the whiteness, but all he came away with was a dripping hand. He was not disappointed, however. He was delighted. Whether or not it met his expectations, he was _inside a cloud._ Moments later, they emerged into the sunlight with only blue sky ahead and more clouds above. James therefore returned his attention to what sped by so far below them.

The moors had since given way to a strange patchwork that greatly baffled him. Might it be farmland? He could only guess. At least he could still do that much. The farms gave way to villages, and the villages to towns. What were those brightly-coloured beans zipping about along the roads? He urged Xerxes lower. Were they carriages? _My, Muggles are strange. Who on earth would want a lime green chaise?_ he tried to go even lower, to get a better look - something about those carriages seemed strange, apart from their speed and colour - but the abraxon would have none of it. He had been trained almost since he could fly not to go below a certain altitude over Muggle areas lest he be discerned. As long as he was at least this high, casual observers would mistake him for a far-off eagle. This was the lowest they were going, which meant James would have to rely on his eyesight alone. He narrowed his eyes. What was it that made those carriages move so strangely? His eyes widened in astonished realization. "They have no horses," he exclaimed aloud, exchanging expressions of vexation with his mount. Suddenly he wasn't so certain that these were Muggles - surely magic was involved somehow?

They glided over fields and towns, lakes and hills, until at last a large, grey mass loomed on the horizon. James squinted into the sun. What could it be? It looked far too solid to be a storm, and far too irregular to be mountains or cliffs. Were they - were they buildings? As they drew near, he knew they were - but he couldn't understand how. They looked like no more than stone and glass, and yet, somehow, they stretched high, high, so that they may have scraped the very sky. He tore his eyes away from them to look down. All these buildings squished up against one another - what on earth could they all be for? And all of those strange carriages, so brightly coloured, like baubles, whizzing and whirring at impossible speeds. They seemed to be the only colour in that bleak grey landscape. Wait, was that a tree? Where was it growing from? Had it forced its way up through the rock and stone of the roads and buildings? James began to be aware of tiny patches of green scattered about, and they only seemed to add to the bleakness of all that grey; a note of desperation.

A cloud bank rolled in, obscuring the city from view. Poking through the sea of white was a great, dark square of stone, and it was on this that Xerxes acquiesced to alight. James hopped off to stretch his legs, and strode to the edge of the building that had scraped the heavens, gazing out over the radiant whiteness and the clear blue sky. In the back of his mind he noted what a good day for sailing it was. The wind picked up, whipping their manes about, and scuttling the clouds away, wafting a foul stench to their noses, and to his great surprise, James was able to discern a disquieting swaying of the great building beneath him. He strode to the parapet guarding the perilous edges and looked down. The height was dizzying, seemingly accented by the fact that they were not flying. Xerxes plodded over and stood beside him.

"What do you suppose this is?" he asked the creature with respect to the building. "Some kind of monument?" Perhaps he was right in a way: a monument to human ingenuity. There were other such buildings rising up around them from the smaller buildings below, like strange, rectangular mountains from equally square foothills. From this vantage point, they could see the whole city, or most of it, and, in the distance James spied green land; a river; a bay glittering with sunlight and dotted with all manner of water craft. Even the ones he could discern looked utterly un-shiplike. A strange mingling of wonder and despair filled him. "What is this world?" Another cloud was coming through. James mounted the pegasus, and they lifted off the skyscraper and left the city behind. James didn't even know where he was. He could not identify the city, it was so vastly different from those he had known. Had he once been familiar with this city in his own world? Had he once lived in it? There was no telling, and before long they had left it behind. They soared over the bay and its strange and giant ships, and tiny boats that whirred and spun as quickly as the carriages, but there was not time to linger and wonder. The day was half gone, and to get back to Hogwarts before nightfall they would have to turn back now. They wheeled in the sky and began to head home.

It was just as well, because James was beginning to grow weary of wonder. There were so many things so utterly foreign to him. The line between magic and mundane seemed neither straight nor clear - he could not tell one way or the other. Could Muggles honestly have achieved all this without the aid of magic? The more he saw, the less he knew. What was this? What was that? What was it for? Why was it like it was? A question was always at the front of his mind - he thought he might burst from the sheer number of them - and he was excited for the day when he might learn the answers. But for now, all he wanted was to return to something familiar and have a good supper. It was a whole new world, and he wanted to see as much of it as he possibly could - just not today. It was with relief that they alighted in the corral back at Hogwarts late in the day. Hagrid was waiting for them, the unicorns around him. "So?" he asked as the sailing master slid the considerable distance to the ground, "How'd 'e do fer yeh?"

"He is a brilliant beast," reaching up to pat the gleaming neck. "Intelligent and adaptable. More than once I know I gave the wrong combination of commands, but he anticipated my intentions and complied. He also appears to be reluctant to descend beyond a certain altitude over certain areas. I presume those are Muggle places?"

"Aye."

"But Rubeus - such wonders - such magical wonders - can they really be Muggles?" Hagrid listened with a mirthful grin as James excitedly recounted the wonders he had seen; the strange, bleak beauty of the city. "I want to travel, Rube. I want to see it all. There's a whole world out there and it's waiting for me." There was something to be said for the gleam in James' eyes, which bespoke passion and excitement; of a newly conceived dream; a greed for knowledge and answers; a greed for questions yet to be asked. There ws so much to see, so much to explore, and it would all begin with that trip to reconquer the far side of the lake. James Norrington, who had traveled farther than any person ever could; who had traveled beyond the stars; would not be stopped for anything. Even death could not arrest his curiosity.

All of his free time was devoted to that trip; he was in a frenzy of preparation, frequently making visits to Hogsmeade to procure supplies and equipment. It was during one such visit, a fine Saturday, that found him sitting at the bar of the Three Broomsticks after a successful search for some line and tackle, enjoying an early lunch. Various students were filing in, and he determined that today was a visiting day for the Hogwarts students. He nodded to the members of the sailing team as they trooped in for a cool drink, and was soon joined by that troublesome trio, who dined and drank butterbeer with him. Alert as ever, even among their carefree cheer, he glimpsed through the tavern's closing door the keeper of the ever-changing shop slipping out of his shop, looking up and down the street, then slinking in the direction of an alley leading into the woods. Whether or not he entered that alley James could not see, for the tavern's door had closed, but his suspicion was aroused, and once again he was struck with the familiarity of the character. To be sure, he was nearly a double of Sparrow for appearance. But he was an entirely different person - tidier, different carriage and posture, different accent and inflection, a greater sense of hygiene.

_No_, thought the were-ferret. _That is not why he is familiar. It is as though we had met, however briefly. But then I would remember him ... wouldn't I?_ His reflections were interrupted by the entrance of the Weasely twins, who proceeded to tease peers and professors indescriminately, all in good fun, and any thoughts not devoted to being alert and watchful for Fizzing Whizbees in his butterbeer and keeping the pranksters in line were pushed to the back of his mind.

A dusty old clock chimed ominously from the corner, and James was aware of a need to leave. He downed what remained of his butterbeer, paid his bill, and made his escape, nodding to whatever other staff were still fending off the Weaselys. His supplies under his arm and a new tricorn on his head, he paused once he was outside to mark the position of the sun and the advancement of night. Tonight was the first night of the full moon cycle, and moonrise was in about an hour. He knew better than to be caught outside when it made its appearance. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the suspicious shopkeep apparently doing the same some way down the street. James narrowed his eyes, watching discreetly as he pretended to fiddle with one of his parcels. Chancing quick sideward glances, he observed that the normally tidy and pristine clothes of the elegant man were rumpled and unkempt, and instead of youthful, that Sparrow-like face seemed only tired. _Why on earth would _he_ need to mark the sun? Surely he'd have a watch in one of those shops of his. Belay that, you old twat, _he berated himself. _You are paranoid and his actions are inconsequential._ Nodding courteously as he passed, he set off for home and resolved not to spare another thought for the shopkeep and his peculiarities. He was more concerned with what was next to do for his trip - hell, he was more concerned with whether he should hunt deer or rabbit tonight.

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There, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! The next chapter is most likely the last, so do excuse me if I take my time with it! I want it to be good!

Thanks for your patience and reviews!


	30. Of Destinies Fulfilled

Hello, everyone. It has been a wild ride, hasn't it? What started out as a simple experiment to possibly be discarded if I wasn't entertained or intrigued enough quickly grew and took on its own life, until it transformed into perhaps my most popular story. Every time I open up my email I find another notification that someone has alerted or favourited this story, and I'd like to thank you for your almost continuous support and patience. Your passion in following this story has nurtured my passion in writing it.

When I first envisioned this story, the ending you are about to see is the very same that I first imagined five years ago. Without any notion of the plot or what was going to happen, I knew it would culminate in these final moments. I cannot believe how much of my life has gone into this story, and I actually feel guilty for perhaps not giving it the attention and devotion it required or deserved.

I was having great difficulty starting the chapter, but then I looked at my calendar. The next full moon fell on the same day as the premier for the final Harry Potter film. It only makes sense to end this story on the same day that this magical series that has been more than a decade of my life comes to an end. So I began to crank out the pages. And then it came easier and easier, and as I wrote this long-awaited ending, I actually moved myself to tears. I can only hope it does the same for you.

If there is enough clamour for it, I will write a short follow-up as a supplement.

Phew, those were a lot of not-fic words. I'm done now. Please enjoy this final chapter of:

_**Of Fears Unknown**_

_**Chapter Twenty-Nine: Of Destinies Fulfilled**_

The full moon shone brightly in the night sky, casting the Forbidden Forest into a twilight of black shadows and a gentle light that dyed everything in a silver glow. Thus it seems only natural that the great lion treading between the shadows of the trees was not golden, but silvery white; the sort that you know is golden because you know, but which otherwise gives no appearance of its true colour. So prowled this apparition, pale and silent, like a ghost, through the peace of night. It paused in a moon-bathed meadow to scent the air, and in its stillness it might have been made of stone.

The rabbits, deer, and nifflers that made the enchanted forest their home did not flee from that great and terrible spirit; it was not hunting. Rather, it was patrolling its territory: the Forest's master and protector. When he was not hunting his prey, he was protecting it. Having not yet found any evidence of danger or trespassers, he was content to roam through the trees lost in memories of his adventures the previous night.

Despite having left early from Hogsmeade to beat the afternoon's moon, James Norrington had lost track of time when timing meant everything. He had done so because he had been rather deeply lost in daydreams about his upcoming sailing trip. Because of this, he had begun his transformation into a ferret and thus was unable to become a lion. He was climbing out of his clothes when Chrystafi came upon him. He bent down to sniff at his tiny furry surrogate, his gangly legs splayed out comically to either side to allow his short neck to reach properly. Recognizing him, and in a rambunctious mood, the young unicorn offered his horn and scooped up the little weasel, who then scrambled back to settle itself along his neck and between his ears. Tiny claws anchoring him to a tuft of forelock, the ferret screeched "_Charge!_" and the unicorn took off, galloping through the deep verdance of the forest, the two whinnying and squeaking joyfully at one another.

They emerged onto the shimmering hills and fields leading toward the school, and the unicorn began to frolic with such freedom and dedication that the ferret was soon dislodged. Thankfully, a pile of leaves broke his fall, and, nickering and snorting in merriment, Chrystafi trotted round to retrieve him—or would have, had those leaves not suddenly begun to move. James found himself being lifted higher and higher into the air, the tendrils cradling him gently. Laughing, he scampered along the moving boughs of the Whomping Willow, the foal trying to keep sight of him from the ground in a lighthearted game of hide and seek. "_Find me, find me!_" he encouraged. It was rare if his dignity allowed him to feel the playful, mischievous side of the ferret, but right now, he didn't care—he was rather enjoying himself. At last, one of those long winding branches led back to Chrystafi's golden shoulders and they were off, galloping all-out across the open ground. James marveled at the sensation of riding the young unicorn. He was the first to have done so, although this was the only time he would be able to until the foal was fully grown, which would take another few years. Currently his head came up to James' chest and could touch noses with him if he craned his neck—but from the ferret's angle, it was like riding a gangly, fluffy-maned, horned and wingless Xerxes.

They flew across the grass, hooves barely touching the ground, the wind in their fur and the sun in their hearts, past the corrals that held the hippogriffs and the paddocks of Xerxes and Melanie, who galloped along the fence with them; past Hagrid's hut and Jack's enclosure, the young chipperphant chattering at them as they passed; out to the docks and then, with a great flying leap, onto the decks of the _Fallen Star._ They stood there, panting and laughing, then wondered how on earth they were going to get off, lacking the room for a running start. Not fancying a night on the water, Chrystafi had extended his nose as near to the dock as he could, and the ferret climbed from his neck to his horn, down his face to jump to safety. He backed up in preparation, took a few dancing steps, and launched himself over the low bulwark in a jumbled array of limbs. Unfortunately, one of his hooves had clipped the rail. "_Now look what you've done to her paintwork!_" The unicorn rolled his eyes and flicked his ears in a manner typical of any teenager.

The lion purred in amusement, feeling a surge of tenderness and affection for the golden colt as he padded through the forest. Tonight was night two of the cycle, the true full moon, and he had made sure not to be caught off-guard again—hence why he was a lion. He meant to make his rounds, then return for a late-evening tea, a book, and a good night's sleep.

He headed for the edge of the woods bordering Hogsmeade to assure himself of the village's peace as well as the forest's. There was something magical about how familiar and mundane the soft candlelight glowing from the windows was. This place was his home; its open, friendly people his family. It could never replace the sea—part of him would always listen for the call of the tide—but now, change didn't seem like such a bad thing. There was a new world waiting to be seen, and a new life waiting to be lived.

He gazed fondly down the lanes and alleys. Once he had saved up enough money, he would buy a cottage here. No. With all the magic here, he would burn his feet on the floorboards. Better to build it himself. He could make it like a ship's cabin—he could model it after the _Dauntless_.

Swelling with eagerness, he tried to pick out an open lot that would be well suited. He was contemplating how deeply he would have to dig for a foundation when he quite literally ran into an unfamiliar scent. Its acrid tang lay so thick in the air that it seemed to make a wall. Walls were meant to keep others out. This was a border mark! Something was trying to steal his territory! All his pantheric rage boiled up, and he parted his lips in a savage snarl. Who would do such a thing? Who would dare challenge the king of these woods? He parted his jaws to draw in the scent, trying to identify the intruder. At first, he thought he recognized the owner of the Every Shoppe. That didn't make any sense—what would a shopkeep be doing setting scent markers? James glanced toward the shop and saw that a candle was burning in the upstairs apartment window. He was in for the night. It had to be something else. This was fresh, and it trailed into the forest, back toward the school. Alert and wary, the lion followed, anxious of what he would find.

The trees swept by in a blur as James raced to confront this intruder. He ran with his mouth open, the better to catch the scent, trying to figure out just _what_ it was. A realization halted him—or at least slowed his pace significantly. It smelled like Lupin. He smelled carefully. No, it wasn't Lupin either. Besides, Lupin was at the castle battling the moon. _Well, never claimed to be a bloodhound,_ he sighed. No time to sit and mull it over. He'd figure it out when he caught it. The problem was finding it before it did any harm. It was large and territorial, so it was definitely dangerous—but_ he_ was large and territorial too. If it touched one bristle on the least of any flobberworm's pseudopod, he would tear it to pieces.

The trail meandered through the trees, but not in the manner of a lost or confused creature. The direction was far to confident, far too purposeful. The deviations that caused the trail to wind so much seemed to be expeditions of exploration or conquest around various features of the land—a gnarly tree here, a shrub there, a hollow log, sometimes simply taking the long way around a tree; there was an overturned stone with great claw marks around it, as of a creature who had been digging at it—and James had no choice but to follow these purposeful meanderings, unable to tell they were such until after the fact.

He heard alarm calls from various creatures now and again, not because the intruder was upon them—the sounds came from all directions—but to warn that there was an intruder and that it was dangerous. What also reached his ears and made the ground tremble beneath his paws was a distant thunder: the centaurs were stampeding. Everything was. He had never seen them so riled up. Concerned, and above all angry, he roared; the deep lowing sort of roar that carries for miles; to announce his presence, establish his claim, and broadcast his challenge to any opposition in the hopes of intimidating, even scaring off whatever had so much of the forest on edge.

It was a strange feeling. Although he was alone in the woods, he could sense the unease of the Forest's inhabitants, smell their fear, their excitement. It was much like that old, dusty, nearly forgotten feeling he had once craved: the feeling, the adrenaline, the fright that had filled him and his men when they were in hot pursuit of an enemy they would certainly later catch: there would be no victory without blood. Blood was the only certainty. Whose it would be and why were unpredictable—the slightest variances, the tiniest stroke of luck on either side could change the course of battle entirely. That was the feeling the lion was experiencing as he raced along the scent trail. Its distant familiarity made his chest constrict with painful memory. How many times had he sailed into the unknown, dreading that feeling—_craving_ it? In the end, who would be victorious, and who would be dead?

James shook his head with a snarl as he charged through the trees. This was no time for reveries! The trail had veered toward the lake and followed a short way along the shore. The stench became exceedingly strong at a bit of gravel beach surrounded by small boulders: one of the lion's—and the man's—favourite places to look out on the lake. Aside from the stronger scent, judging by the difference in freshness of the trail before and after this site, the trespasser had lingered here for some time. Perhaps it had been scoping out the rich vastness of its territory—or perhaps it had been investigating its competition. It was challenging him directly. He had to pause to gather his wits about him. If he was going into battle, he needed a clear head to focus and think straight.

He crouched to lap the black water and catch his breath. His ears pricked at a small rippling, and he looked up to see a shape break through the reflection of the full moon on the water's glassy surface. He recognized that equine head: Strawberry the hippocampus. Other shapes were emerging around her, looking eerily human. Having once swallowed gillyweed and taken an underwater survey of the lake, James had of course met them—and from their manners and lack of courtesy, he hadn't wanted to go back and visit anytime soon—but now they stared at him pleadingly, looking for guidance and protection from the fiend that lurked in the night. Even if they were unfriendly, they acknowledged his dominion over the grounds.

More and more shapes were surfacing—grindylows, even the tentacles of the giant squid—all looking to that great stone lion to save them. Shaking the water from his mane, he nodded a solemn promise to them and set off again, his paws sped with a greater sense of urgency not only because of the weight of his responsibility to the creatures that depended on him, but also due to another realization: the scent was growing fresher. He was beginning to catch up.

The trail led immediately back into the trees. It was moderately straight now, and he could bound through the shadows at a much greater speed. His thoughts were racing as fast as his paws were, of tactics and battle plans. If he could just figure out where it was going, he could leave the trail and head it off there. _What was that?_ He skidded to a halt and spun around, scenting the air cautiously. A shimmering white shape stepped momentarily into the moonlight before shying away and rejoining other pulsing shapes in a roiling mass in the shadows. The unicorns. James licked his lips with apprehension. The whole herd were trotting, in some cases cantering, in a terrified circle, shoving their offspring into the center and tossing their horned heads in anxiety, snorting and rolling their eyes.

One of the foals broke away suddenly and came barreling toward him. Chrystafi. The little unicorn buried its face in James's thick mane, trembling, then looked into his face with frightened crystalline eyes, touching noses with him to take comfort in the familiar smell of his breath. The foal was quivering from head to hoof, dancing uneasily. He looked anxiously into the lion's face again, and James suddenly recognized his expression as the same as the day they had met. With a lump in his throat, and rage boiling in his stomach, he understood that this creature that was trying to take over the forest, whatever it was, was the same one that had slaughtered Chrystafi's mother before his eyes. That settled it. Now more than ever, James was determined to defeat this enemy _no matter the cost._

Flicking his tail, he turned back and continued along the scent trail. Chrystafi went with him, clinging to what small comfort he could derive from the presence of his surrogate. One by one, other unicorns joined them until the whole herd was with them, loping behind and alongside the lion on the path. It was like some great procession, but James couldn't think what to. _Maybe a funeral._

Stags, owls, bats, and birds joined them, darting through the shadows; more mundane animals that shared the forest. Like the unicorns, they were uneasy and apprehensive. Animals whose kin had been his lunch now ran alongside him: they were all in the same boat now. One big crew braving the same storm, with James at the helm.

It soon became apparent that they had not sought out his presence to join him, but rather that his path had converged with theirs. Their destination became clear as the panicked parade emerged into a large clearing—the very same where James and Chrystafi had first met the thestrals. Gathered therein was the greatest assortment of creatures, magical and not, that James had ever beheld. The whole of the thestral herd was there, and the centaurs, with great acromantulas hanging from branches and tree trunks, as well as knarls, squirrels, rabbits, nifflers, diricawls, the odd porlock, and even a troll, not to mention the unicorns and so on now entering the clearing with him. They had all come to seek safety in numbers, but incidentally it seemed as though they had gathered to await the coming procession, and a thousand frightened and expectant eyes turned to focus on the great lion. Everything was spooked, waiting anxiously for something to happen that would decide the Forest's fate—and theirs.

As they gazed at him, James once again knew they were looking to him for leadership and protection. He was the guardian of the Forbidden Forest and the Black Lake, of Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, and all their inhabitants were relying on him to keep them safe. As though to punctuate this, the ranks parted down the center of the clearing to let him pass through. "The path you follow is coming to an end," said a centaur at his shoulder, laying a hand in his mane, for the centaurs had read this in the stars. "The trail leaves the forest near the Groundskeeper's home. Go. Fulfill your destiny."

Nodding resolutely, the lion sprinted through the clearing, roaring his determination so that it shook the trees.

Now knowing at least where the intruder had left the woods—and he would be able to follow it much more quickly over the open ground—James raced toward Hagrid's hut. It was as though the trees were leaping out of his way, for it seemed like a clear run straight to the edge of them. He could have sworn he saw movement out of the corner of his eye—a root, perhaps, or a branch—but now was not the time to investigate. If the trees were in fact moving, it was to lend speed to his paws as he flew toward Hogwarts. Even the trees were looking to him for protection.

At last he burst into the moonlight near the pumpkin patch. He parted his jaws again to find the scent, and made his way around the hut. The hippogriffs and Xerxes watched him warily as he passed their paddocks, swishing their tails and stamping and, in the latter's case, clicking their beaks agitatedly. Past Jack's enclosure and still no scent or tracks. The young chipperphant emerged from her hiding place to approach the fence, squeaking softly. She looked into his face with fear and trust, and was that affection? She touched noses with him; the first time the normally aggressive R.O.U.S. had allowed such familiar contact. Even the runespoor had given up arguing with itself, and the great enchanted basket holding it was emitting a loud hissing as though it had been disturbed.

Here was the scent in the strawberry patch! It led him uphill toward the castle, passing right under the Whomping Willow. Even it reached its branches out for reassurance, caressing him as he sprinted past. What could have come here to make even the most ferocious trees shake with fear? _Don't worry, old friend. I'll keep you safe, _he vowed.

Now that there was little cover, he was using his eyes as much as his nose, stretched wide with pupils dilated, searching for something, anything, that would reveal his enemy. The trail led right up to the wall of the school, and he saw great clawmarks scored into the stony surface. It continued around the perimeter of the castle, which meant James had to cautiously stalk toward each corner to avoid giving his presence away, sniffing and listening carefully to make sure the coast was clear. Having rounded the half-dozenth corner in this geometric nightmare, he found himself against a long wall on Hogwarts' eastern side with great sloping fields stretching away toward the rocky hills. It was one of his favourite places to watch the sun rise.

Movement in the distance caught his eye. _What's that?_ He stared into the disorienting moonlit twilight that painted the landscape in greys and black shadows. There were three small, familiar figures near a lone sapling at the base of the slope. He couldn't believe his eyes. What were they doing out so late? It crossed his mind that they might be going to visit himself and Hagrid—but he quickly discarded the thought: Hagrid's hut was on the other side of the castle. But then what? Then he remembered something the Groundskeeper had told him once about the trio: "They're notorious detectives, they are. Always solving one mystery or other. Get themselves into trouble, usually, and break about a dozen rules. But they mean well, and they always figure it out." They appeared to be doing just that, trying to solve the same mystery he was. They were inspecting something in a patch of dirt near the little tree, following along it for a couple of yards. Tracks, perhaps? The trail led right toward them.

And so did its source. James's sharp eyes picked out a shadow slinking toward them over the hill, and at last he recognized the scent. _Werewolf!_ That was why it had reminded him of Lupin—but this was not his friend, and it was hunting the students! If it wasn't stopped, they would end up like him—or worse. Then he realized that this was the monster that had bitten him in the first place; the one that started it all. That was when he decided to stop being a lion. If he was going to fight this thing, he would do so as the very creature it had made him; give it a taste of its own medicine—or rather, force the bottle down its throat.

He was human for the briefest of moments before that old, familiar pain coursed through him, crushing bone and flesh until they had taken on a new shape. And how he fought the change! With every fiber of his being, with all his rage and fear and fortitude and determination, he fought—for a ferret would be less of a match and more of a snack in this fight—until he was a half-beast once more. With not a moment to be lost, he raced toward the children.

By now the werewolf was quite near to Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Drool dripped from its slavering jaws as it breathed the delicious aroma of an easy three-course meal. With a snarl, it pounced. The children turned to face it with shouts and cries of alarm and terror. A great screeching caterwaul pierced the night, and a vaguely familiar shape hurtled through the air to barrel into it before it could reach them. When they saw its misshapen features, Ron and Hermione cried out again. "Great!" shouted Weasely, "Now there's _two_ monsters! What are we supposed to do now? We might as well be lunch meat." Hermione, meanwhile, was preparing to cast a hex that might buy them some time to escape.

"Wait, Hermione," called Potter, recognizing the were-ferret. "I think he's here to help us." And so they backed off to watch.

The two were-creatures circled warily, snarling their aggression, eyeing each other up to determine their strengths and weaknesses. The wolf was huge. Even in half-form James was dwarfed by it. The odds weren't looking good, but never for a moment did he doubt himself, even as he leapt screeching into battle.

They met in the air with teeth bared and claws out, snapping and slashing at one another. With the wolf's superior weight, this was not a technique James could win with, and the first chance he got he feinted, dodged a blow, then darted in the other direction. He lunged and locked his teeth in the wolf's flank, gouging and battering at it with his claws, sometimes front, other times back claws as he struggled to keep his grip on the twisting, snarling creature trying to dislodge him. And while his razor-sharp claws were doing their job scoring flesh and drawing blood, all his teeth had gained him was a mouthful of thick fur. At last, the wolf was able to wedge one of its hind feet between itself and him, and it forced him off, sending him flying, but not before its claws dug deep into his stomach.

James landed hard, screeching in pain and rage. He could feel the blood running down his side, soaking his shirt and, winded, was slow regaining his feet. The wolf was coming toward him to finish the job. It snarled and crouched to lunge—and there was a bright flash of red accompanied by a loud bang. Hermione had shot an emergency signal of red sparks into the night sky. While the wolf was distracted, the half-ferret regained his feet and darted out of the way to bite and claw at its haunches. Bellowing its rage, it whirled around to face him, and they exchanged blows like prize fighters with their forepaws. James began to see his advantage: the wolf might be big, but _he_ had mastery of close combat. He ducked and dodged and dealt his own share of flying claws. He boxed its ears and battered its head, succeeding in making it angrier, and with a quick dodge, he managed to claw one of its eyes. The monster yelped and stumbled backwards, rubbing at its face with its paws as it tried to clear its vision.

Suddenly remembering the children, he turned back to them. What were they still doing here? Why hadn't they escaped? "_Run!_" he screeched; but of course, they couldn't understand that. He turned back and met with a sudden, sharp blow to the head that sent him reeling to fall dazed to the ground a few yards away.

The wolf advanced on him, teeth bared, drool dripping from its growling mouth. James looked up through the bloodstained blades of grass, trying to focus on the blurry form approaching him. But he was sluggish. He could feel the blood trickling through the fine fur on his cheek from a wound on his left temple. He half-rose, dizzy and unsteady, and scrambled backwards, shaking his head violently to clear it, splattering the ground with blood.

The wolf charged. The were-ferret jumped and rolled to dodge it and, finding himself behind it, leapt onto its back, biting into its neck and clawing at its shoulders and haunches. But the fur was even thicker here, and he could not find a grip with his teeth. With a great heave, the werewolf threw him clear. He went sailing through the air and landed on his stomach. It grabbed his foot in its jaws and dragged him, twisting and scrabbling at the ground, back toward it. Quickly rolling onto his back, James rose to somersault into it and caught one of its forelegs, which he latched onto with his teeth and would not let go. Snarling, it reared onto its hind legs and flailed its arm, but even as he was flung around like a plaything he would not let go. It slammed him into the ground and pinned him under its other paw, and he felt its teeth sink deep into his left shoulder, trying to tear him off. Even through the agony, to which he was becoming increasingly numb, all that he focused on now was biting that leg, and he bit down harder and harder, not stopping when he tasted blood, not until he felt the bones crunching between his teeth.

Howling in pain, the wolf again reared up, and James let go, landing catlike on his feet before his left foreleg gave out, limp and useless, to watch in astonishment as something strange began to happen. Flesh and fur rippled like water, and the rearing wolf, silhouetted against the bright full moon, began to _change shape._ He wondered if, because he had drawn blood, it would turn into a ferret now, like him. But no: instead of becoming something new, it un-became what it was. It was becoming a man. Its howl turned to a moan, its fur to skin, its claws to hands. Amid the startled exclamations of the spectating trio, James felt a jolt of pain go through him, familiar and agonizing, as he, too, began to change shape. His eyes shot upward toward the sky in shock. It was not yet dawn! Neither the stars nor moon had set! And yet he, too, was transforming.

"Look, that one's changing too!"

Panic filled him at the thought of discovery, and he hid his face, desperately trying to become a lion again. _Come on, come on, please._ Miraculously free of the moon's power, though not yet completely human, he could feel his mane sprouting on his neck and knew he would make it. A lion once more, he rose gingerly to his paws and slunk quietly away while the children examined the man lying prone in the dirt.

"It's the shopkeep from the Every Shoppe!" he heard Hermione cry as he limped heavily past the sapling beneath which the trio had been taking shelter. Their voices sounded distant somehow, muted, and he almost didn't understand the discovery they had made. All he knew—all that mattered—was that he had won and they were safe. It was over.

"Wait," said a voice much clearer, much nearer, breaking through the muddled haze in his mind, and he brought his great head slowly round to face the three students. He stopped as they approached and they stared at each other in silence for long moments: a trio of shaken fourteen-year-olds and a gigantic lion with blood staining its once-beautiful golden fur, trickling down its face, and a great chunk of sun-like mane missing from a terrible wound on its shoulder that rendered its leg useless. "Won't you show us your face?" Hermione asked softly, twining her fingers in his mane. He looked uncertainly into her sincere eyes. "You saved us."

"And it looks like you saved him, too," added Ron, pointing at the unconscious shopkeep.

"Won't you show us who you are?"

Looking into their solemn, earnest faces, he could only comply. Summoning the last of his strength, he slowly, painfully transformed, gasping with the effort, until he stood, wavering on his feet, a man. For the first time since coming to this world, he could stand in the moonlight as a man. "Mr. Norrington!" they gasped as they recognized him. He took a step and stumbled, exhausted and weak from his wounds. Reliable as ever, the three children caught him and helped him to lie down beneath the little tree. Hermione kneeled so he could rest his weary head on her lap, staring up at the sky which was lightening with dawn's first pale fingers.

He closed his eyes and Hermione stroked his hair soothingly. "Thank you for saving us," she murmured. His eyes fluttered open to meet hers, and she was unsettled by the confusion in them, and by how pale he looked, and the trembling of his body. He seemed to be panting slightly, either in pain or with difficulty. She was about to suggest that someone go get help when a hail called their attention to a group of professors rushing toward them: McGonagall, Snape, Hagrid, Dumbledore, and Lupin, who looked haggard and clutched a cloak round himself—he must have just changed back, with dawn growing stronger.

"Someone call the nurse," said Snape when he had come close enough to see the wounds.

"Came as soon as we saw th' sparks," explained Hagrid.

"What happened here?" McGonagall demanded.

"The shopkeep was a werewolf," Harry replied briefly. "Mr. Norrington saved us."

"I managed to see the end of the fight, James," said an excited Lupin—although his voice sounded strangely hollow, and James couldn't understand why. "I think you've discovered a cure for lycanthropy. If you infect the werewolf that infected you, you disinfect both. I imagine it works something like anti-venom, though I can't be sure whether your countermagic played any part in it." James tried to smile at this, but it turned into a grimace and he gasped in pain. Hermione removed herself and gently set his head on her rolled-up jumper.

"_Someone call the nurse,_" repeated Snape more forcefully, more...desperately?

"It's too late, Severus," murmured the deputy Headmistress.

"James, listen to me," said Dumbledore urgently, breaking onto the kneeling circle, "you're dying."

James blinked uncomprehendingly at him. "What?" gasped the students.

"You are going home," the Headmaster said more gently.

"But I—how can you know that?" James forced the words out with a gasping voice etched with pain, fatigue, and despair. "You said—the only other person like me—died before he could go home."

"Exactly," came the rueful reply. The old wizard gazed at him sadly over his half-moon glasses. "He had to die to go home. It was the only way to release the hold this world had on him."

It was several moments before James's weary mind could wrap itself around the concept, and several more before he could muster enough strength to speak again. "Are you sure?"

"No."

James closed his eyes, breathing heavily and raggedly. He had never been afraid of death—if anything, his old profession had taught him to expect it. But there had never been a time when he had less wanted to die. When he opened his eyes again, they glistened. "I don't want to go." It was becoming harder and harder to speak. It felt—and sounded—like every word was being wrenched out. "This place, these people—they're my home." He closed his eyes again, exhausted, strength dying fast. There was a long silence. "Will I ever come back?" he asked more quietly, more easily.

"I do not know. You have stardust inside you now. Perhaps we will see you again, when that world renounces its claim on you."

James nodded in acceptance. "You three," he addressed the trio in a murmur. "I'm sorry I lied to you."

"Lied?" repeated Hermione. "You've been nothing but honest with us."

He smiled faintly and shook his head a little. "It was me all along—the ferret in your school bag, the strange man in your bed. I didn't plan on that bit," he coughed the last words. She managed a smile, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Thank you for protecting me when I could not protect myself."

They squeezed hands. A hug was out of the question. "You were the best ferret I could ever ask for," she gasped. "A good man and a great friend."

"Mr. Weasely—Ron. I apologize for biting your nose. I hope my cooking had been satisfactory."

"More than that, brilliant," the redhead replied solemnly. "Thanks for all the adventures. Even the ones I didn't know I was sharing with you." A gentle handshake.

Those tired green eyes made their way to meet a similarly coloured pair. "Harry," he sighed, and there was a long silence. "Thank you. You kept my secret when it was not yours to keep."

"I wanted to help," the boy replied. "You gave us so many great times—I didn't want you to have to go away. I don't want you to go now." They clasped hands. James could barely grasp the boy's hand now, but his voice was still with him. He was beginning to go numb and the pain was leaving him, its sharp notes fading from his voice.

"Look after these two," he murmured to Hermione. "Rubeus—" his voice caught.

"Shh, shh, don't you try to talk none. Save yer strength."

"Like hell I'm going to die without saying goodbye," he growled. His indignation gave him the strength to keep talking. "You have been so wonderful and kind. You've shared your home and your food and your love of magical creatures with me. You've taken great care of me and you've been a great friend."

Great sickle-sized tears were dripping town into that tangled beard. "Home'll seem so empty without yer," he gasped, clasping that nearly limp hand in his great fist. "All o' Hogwarts will." He and Hermione clutched each other, crying.

James felt a soft nudge against his head and looked to see the unicorn. "Oh Chrystafi," he gasped. He reached up and hugged the little foal to him, and for a moment he let the tears overflow. "Now you've lost another parent." As though understanding this, the golden colt lay down beside him and rested its head on his chest. The warmth was a comfort against an all-pervading cold that was growing deep inside of him.

"Albus, Minerva..." He searched for the right words and the strength to say them. "You took me in—even when you had no reason to trust me—or accept me." He paused for a shaking breath. "And now I am leaving without ever getting the chance to repay you."

"You already have," Dumbledore assured him. Seeing his confusion, he went on: "You saved these students from a vicious attack. If you had not been at Hogwarts, they might not be here now." Those periwinkle eyes sparkled with a sort of hollow laughter, a rueful sorrow. "Give Elizabeth a kiss from me."

"And give that Jack Sparrow a scolding I would be proud of," added McGonagall, kissing his forehead.

He was very still for a few moments before shifting slightly to face Lupin. "Remus—." It was getting harder and harder to breathe or speak—or see or think, or function. It felt like there were cobwebs in his mouth. It felt like they were everywhere—in his chest, on his eyes, in his ears. Hell, it felt like they were in his mind, making it hard to think. He felt like he was very far away, sinking, sinking. The world was beginning to grow dark round the edges. "Remus," he gasped again, his voice very faint. "What terrible bad luck. It seems you'll be losing another James. What troublesome friends we make."

"Oh I don't know about that," Lupin replied with a hollow smile. "What things we discovered, you and I." His voice cracked. It looked like his friend was beginning to slip away. "We were quite a team." He held James' pale hand in both of his, swallowing hard.

Then at last those green eyes turned toward Snape. He reached up and clutched his shoulder with what strength remained to him. "Severus," he murmured much more softly now, barely above a whisper. "My dear, dear Severus. Don't look so sad." Those glittering, glistening black eyes met his, and Snape reached up to clasp that hand, clinging to it like he would never let go. "We've had some good times, eh? What a good friend you've been. You brought me back when no one else could. Maybe you will again some day. You are a great man. Let others see that." With each sentence, James' voice was growing fainter and fainter, and Snape found it harder and harder to hear him. He took a gasping breath and Severus leaned in to catch this final farewell. "I never—got to see the other end of the lake." He gave a great shuddering sigh and was still, his glazed green eyes staring sightlessly up at that beautiful, beautiful castle. Snape bowed his head.

James Norrington was dead.

The dawn was beautiful, painting the sky with vermillion and lavender and the castle with gold, and the rolling fields with shimmering emerald. The breeze blew gently; the leaves and grasses rustled; the birds sang; and Hermione wept quietly.

But all James could hear as he sank into darkness was the sound of waves.

* * *

_Mischief managed!_


End file.
